


i'd travel a thousand galaxies (to have you here in my arms)

by felicitybettx



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Mentions of Suicide, Minor Spoilers, Minor Violence, Time Travel, minor smut, season 6 AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-08
Updated: 2018-10-17
Packaged: 2019-01-31 01:09:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 43,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12665190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/felicitybettx/pseuds/felicitybettx
Summary: Sorry sweetheart, he thinks, as he looks at the photo again.  A job’s a job - and he can’t in good conscience leave until there is a large, red X through Felicity Smoak’s pretty face.Or - the first time the future comes back to haunt Oliver, not the past.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi all! So this is my first time writing in well... what feels like forever. Please be gentle :)  
> I wrote a portion of this story before season 6 premiered which is why some things are canon and some are not. I guess I put my unique little twist on it. (I was also far too lazy to go back and change anything post-premiere so.)  
> I hope you like it! :)

**2017 --**

 

If anyone had asked Felicity Smoak ten years ago what she thought her life would be like today, she wouldn’t have known what to say.

“He’s circling around left Spartan - take the back alley entrance.”

“On it.”

But she wouldn’t have expected _this._

She follows Spartan’s blinking tracker as it moves along her computer, before scanning the computer to locate the rest of her team.

Felicity could have _imagined_ her life going several different, highly probable (if not probably boring) ways.

She could have easily continued her boring job as overqualified IT specialist at Queen Consolidated, segwaying into a careful life in the suburbs eventually with a small dog and a picket fence.

She could have even gave up on her life in Starling City entirely, moved back to Las Vegas with her mother and spent the rest of her days serving cocktails to handsy business men and pretending to laugh when her mom told people they were sisters.

Scarily enough, she could have even seen herself exchanging the hair dye and pencil skirts for her previous lifestyle of combat boots and purple streaks, (a version of herself that seems so far off it was almost like she imagined it) letting the darkness envelop the bright parts of her personality that breathed post-Cooper, maybe even following his footsteps straight to prison.

Felicity could have imagined colorful scenarios with countless endings for the rest of her life - she actually has a very vivid imagination, ask anyone - but this?

“Speedy - Count 4.0’s men are stationed at every entrance of the power plant. I suggest you enter through the air ducts to avoid detection - I’m getting the schematics now.”

Frantically typing in an amazingly complex algorithm (that she hand-crafted herself), helping 3 justice-driven vigilante’s in suits take down yet another bad guy hell-bent on destroying the city?

Yeah. She probably wouldn’t have guessed that.

“Copy that, Overwatch.”

Oh yeah - and she has her own codename too, like some fracking superhero out of a comic book.

She _definitely_ would have never foreseen this as her reality - but she counts herself as extremely lucky that it is.

“Green Arrow, I need you to parkour or whatever you need to do to get up to the roof - there’s a door our bad guys neglected since it requires a complete override in order to open it. Unfortunately for _them_ they’ve never met me.”

She cracks her knuckles harshly like she’s seen in the movies - although it does absolutely _nothing_ to improve her efficiency so she literally has no idea why characters do that - and waits for her boyfriend - _god_ , it feels so good to call him that again - to make his way up there.

“Done.”

“Spartan, can you circle around the back with Speedy and come in from the rear?” She’s met with a breathy chuckle that sounds suspiciously like Diggle. “Sorry, that sounded wrong. Can you enter from the back? _God!_ That sounded even worse.”

“Can you both please go through the back of the building and cover Green Arrow as he goes after Count Vertigo 4.0?” She silently repeats her sentence for any innuendos. Realizing she aced it that time, she mentally pats herself on the back. “Hey, that one was good. Why can’t my brain say it that way the first time?”

Dig chuckles. “Cause then you wouldn’t be you, Overwatch.”

She hears the affectionate note in his voice and decides to forgive him to laughing at her verbal pain earlier.

“How’s the door coming, Overwatch?” Oliver sounds out of breath, even by his standards, and she honestly doesn’t want to know exactly how he got to the top of that roof.

“You should be able to get in….  now!”

She watches as the team  infiltrates Count 4.0’s secret hideout. She can barely believe they’re back to where it all began, really, six years ago. Taking down a madman sidled with the name Count Vertigo who’s hellbent at harming the city by use of the infamous drug that keeps reinventing itself.

It’s kind of poetic, in a way, that they’re back to where it all began just as she and Oliver are back to the start of their relationship as well. Poetic and a little bit… well, what’s the word?

Repetitive.

Seriously, don’t these guys ever get tired of hitting the streets with the same drug? What is the big deal with Vertigo? Cocaine and heroin not cool enough anymore?

She probably should be thankful it’s just the Count’s hideout they’re infiltrating tonight and not something more lucrative and dangerous. It’s a job for just the four of them (the Original Gangsta’s as she likes to call them) which is perfect since the rest of the team is MIA at the moment.

Well, not so much ‘missing’ since Felicity knows exactly where each of them are - Rene is spending time with his daughter in Coast City, Dinah finishing up a week of boot camp for her police training in Central City - but when she’d referred to it as their vacation time Rene and Dinah hadn’t laughed quite as hard as she had.

It’s probably perfect timing for a break anyway - the Big Bad guys don’t tend to show their faces or reveal their evil doomsday plans til about mid-March, so fall is a the opportune time for them to be left with half a team.

She hopes she’s not jinxing it.

Thea had begrudgingly agreed to suit up again until the team is back, although Felicity can tell she secretly is loving it. Maybe adrenaline rushes are the secret antidote for the after-effects of a coma?

She watches her team, keeping an eye out for anything out of the ordinary. It’s a little bit weird to think of busting up an illicit drug ring as ‘ordinary’, but here she is.

The power plant they were infiltrating had no security cameras, only a satellite a few miles away that gave her an image grainier than a 1970’s home video, but at least she can make out which specs were here team and which were the Count’s men.

Mostly though, this is the part where Team Arrow does the brunt of the work. She just has to sit helplessly, miles away from the fight, while the sounds of gunfire and grunting fill her ears and pray that they all come home in one piece.

Six years in and this part doesn’t get any easier. Not even a little.

“Overwatch, do you have eyes on the Count?” Oliver asks, words broken up by the sharp intakes of breath that tell her he’s fighting.

“It looks like he’s heading for the exit on the northwest corridor… Along with 5 quarts of Vertigo. I swear the only thing I can count on in my life is this stupid drug reappearing every other year.”

Dig and Thea trail not far behind Oliver, keeping the Count’s men detained. Oliver maneuvers himself so he can cut the Count off before he can make it outside and launches a rope-arrow in attempt to stumble him as he runs. The Count must have been anticipating that, though, and he dodges it just in time before turning to fire more rounds at Oliver.

Oliver eludes the bullets easily, but the distraction buys the Count extra time that he uses to sneak out the doorway and into the alley.

“He’s on the move!” Oliver shouts.

“Got it,” Dig replies, shoving his elbow roughly into one of the Count’s men and reaching for his gun. “I’ll circle back around come from the other side. Speedy?”

“Right behind ya,” Thea responds, letting an arrow sail into the air that lands near a huge shipment of Vertigo. It explodes on impact. “Nice,” she mutters.

They trail behind Oliver as he chases the Count. Felicity stares at her computer intently, waiting for any indication from her team that she can do something to help.

A voice comes from behind her.

“Would now be a good time to tell you that a van full of Vertigo is pulling out of the parking lot and - wow, breaking a _lot_ of traffic laws?”

“Ah!” Felicity yelps, startling. “I forgot you were here!”

Curtis smiles despite himself, re-adjusting his glasses as he sits near her desk and types into a computer nearby.

“Yeah, that seems to be a reoccurring thing.”

She had almost completely forgotten Curtis was manning comms with her tonight too, since he wasn’t actively needed in the field. It may have been an ego-buster for some, but Curtis seemed to take in stride the fact that he wasn’t as useful in the field as he was behind a computer. It made more sense to have him on the team as engineer/sometimes Overwatch (on the nights when Felicity was busy, obviously) than as Mister Terrific who, let’s be honest, was only as useful as a couple extra punches most nights.

“I’ll hack into the security feed and find out where they’re unloading the shipment,” he offers. “Although if Green Arrow doesn’t catch the Count this time, we’re pretty much royally screwed.”

“Not helping, Curtis,” Felicity admonishes as she types.  

“Right, sorry.” He adjusts his glasses, again, looking anywhere but her. Sometimes it was freaky how painfully alike they were.

She refocuses on her computer, watching from a security feed so grainy it should be illegal as the team eventually corner the Count in an alley a few blocks down. She watches as he turns to face them, obviously knowing his capture is imminent but wanting to go down kicking and screaming nonetheless.

They always do.

Oliver raises his bow to him. “Put the gun down Count - it’s over.”

“You can kill me if you like but the Vertigo plan will carry on unhinged. The shipments are already delivered and being taken to Central City as we speak. You’re too late.”

“Overwatch?” Dig prompts, knowing she heard all that.

“I respectfully disagree, Walmart-version of the Count,” Felicity says as she hacks into the truck’s location. “I believe the SCPD were just tipped off about the location of a truck carrying 500 pounds worth of Vertigo before it left Star City. Oh, and I hacked into all traffic lights within a four mile radius so… no cars - truck drivers with tons of drugs or otherwise - will be making a pit stop in Central City tonight.”

She finishes typing and pumps her fist in the air. “Vertigo? More like Verti-NO.”

Curtis chuckles along with her at her pun (that she definitely had _not_ been thinking of since the Count reemerged five days ago) and they share an uncoordinated hi-five that they’re both glad no one is there to witness.

Digg gives an amused huff. “We gotta work on your trash talk.”

“It’s over, Count,” Oliver continues. “Lower your weapon.”

The Count’s lips curve menacingly. “You should kill me now while you have the chance - next time, I won’t be so easy to catch.”

Oliver rolls his eyes and steadies his bow. He was just stalling at this point.

“What is it about bad guys and monologuing?” Felicity wonders aloud, unknowingly echoing Oliver’s thoughts. “Literally in what superhero movie has that _ever_ worked out for them?”

“I’m not going to kill you. Lower. Your. Weapon.”

Felicity can’t keep the proud smile off her face. Ever since Lian Yu, Oliver had been doing his best to find another way - in a lot of areas of his life, but most importantly, by not killing as the Green Arrow.

This wasn’t a promise blanketed by naivety anymore though - he accepted that sometimes, when the situation demands it, he would need to take a life, and it wasn’t something that he was going to rake himself over the coals for, either. With the help of the team - and with insight from Felicity, of course - he could make those tough calls if it was for the betterment of the city.

“Put your gun down,” Oliver repeats. “Now.”

The Count seems to weigh his options before tightening the grip on his gun, still clutching the Vertigo for dear life in his other hand.

Oliver sighs and pulls his bow back, prepared to launch a tranq-arrow into the Count’s arm, when three gunshots ring out.

The Count crumples to the ground, dark blood seeping from his chest and dampening his shirt.

The team scatters in self-defense - ducking for cover and trying to find the source of the gunshots.

“What just happened!?” Felicity shrieks, because she thought this night was pretty much wrapped up.

“The Count’s dead, three bullets fired from a nearby rooftop it seems,” Oliver recites as he leans down to check the Count’s pulse. Nothing. He can’t exactly feel remorse about that, considering this man was planning on putting a deadly hallucinatory drug on the market for worldwide consumption - plus had no problem popping off bullets in his direction moments earlier - but something about this leaves a bitter taste in his mouth.

Felicity frowns at her computer. “I’ll scan surveillance footage now.”

“That’s… weird.” Thea, not far behind Oliver, walks out to where the alley meets the street to scan for threats.

“Speedy.” Oliver warns. Vigilante or not, protective brother will always be his identity first.

“I just… don’t get it. There’s no one here besides us. No cop cars… why would one of his own men kill him?”

Oliver shrugs, too busy scanning the night with precision to pay too close attention to Thea’s question. They were outside, in a dimly lit alleyway in a godforsaken area of the Glades surrounded by abandoned buildings and beaten-down apartment complexes. These shots could have been fired from anywhere.

“I don’t know about motive,” Diggle says as he approaches. “But three precise shots? From a vantage point like this? Seems like the work of a sniper to me.”

Thea gives an incredulous chuckle. “So Star City has a sniper on the loose? Awesome,” she deadpans.

“I’ve accessed any video cameras that could have caught a glimpse of our shooter,” Felicity informs them. “The satellite that covers the rooftop of the apartment building to your left has two minutes where it goes completely black. Coincidence?”

“When is anything ever a coincidence?” Oliver mutters before using a rope-arrow to scale the building. He’s not really in the mood to play games tonight. If there’s a deadly sniper lose in his city, he’s going to find him.

Much to his chagrin, when he reaches the top he’s met with nothing but the noises of the city and a vacant rooftop.

“It’s empty, Overwatch.”

“Shooty-McGee must have booked it,” Felicity supplies, hacking into as much security footage as she can find. “I’ll go over the security cameras from the insides of the buildings from the past hour, see if anything suspicious turns up.”

“Uh, guys?” Thea interrupts. “Is this really such a big deal? I mean Count Vertigo was most likely going to try and shoot his way out of that anyway. Are we putting too much thought into someone getting a bad guy? I mean it’s not like we’re the only ones allowed to take down crazies in this city.”

Oliver slides down the rope he’d used, landing with a harsh thunk next to Thea.

“How do we know this isn’t another one of those crazies?” Oliver counters. “If we leave them on the street, they could end up hurting more people.”

“Count Vertigo did make a lot of enemies,” Dig concedes. “Could be just one of them exacting their revenge.”

“And he was, like, _super_ icky,” Felicity tacks on, grimacing. “Forcing the world into a drug-induced coma, basically? Who does that? Icky people, that’s who.”

Thea nods. “Exactly. Maybe we shouldn’t be trailing this guy, but thanking him?”

Oliver sighs, subconsciously resting his weight on his good knee. He seems to battle himself over this - the fearless, alpha male vigilante in him wants to spend the rest of the night scaling rooftops while the other half just wants to take a win as a win and call it a night.

They _did_ stop Count Vertigo and his men, while getting Vertigo off the streets before it swept through the country.

If there was ever a win, it was that.

“Come on, Oliver. If this shooter wanted to hurt us they would’ve done it while we were oblivious and easy targets,” John says. His logic isn’t wrong by any means, but something about this still leaves a sour taste in his mouth.

But… what can he say? He really wants to call it a night and spend the rest tucked inside with his girlfriend.

“You’re right. Let’s call it a night.”

“Team Arrow back to the Arrow Cave!” Felicity announces, not even realizing she let the term fly with Oliver in earshot. He’s warmed up to Team Arrow over the years, but Arrow Cave has been a hard sell. She’ll have to use more sexual incentives.

“Stop calling it that,” Oliver grumbles - although she would bet good money he is trying not to smirk under that hood of his.

“One day,” she concedes. “One day you’ll join the dark side, honey.”

She switches off her comm when they’re en-route and leans her head back against the chair, letting all the energy leave her body with a sigh.

Victory at last. And sleep… sleep at last.

Sometimes Felicity has to pinch herself just to remind herself _this is her life_ . Crazy ninja assassins? Immortal magicians with crazy plots to destroy the world? Dead people that were apparently not-so-dead coming back every other week? Shape-shifting metahumans? _Time travel?_ This is the kind of stuff that didn’t even surprise her anymore; this was stuff in her wheelhouse.

She not only gets to work with the heroes that put bad guys away - they consider _her_ a hero, too.

Pinching herself just wasn’t enough.

Oliver had once told her that her superpower was her brain, and whenever she thinks of it (often replaying Oliver’s sweetest sentiments in her head like a greatest hits album) it takes her back to being a latchkey kid growing up in Vegas, her future looking no brighter than the neon signs that lit up The Strip.

She hadn’t expected great things from herself; hadn’t even known she was capable of great things.

Even after moving to Starling City, she had anticipated the ordinary. Basked in it, even.

But then Oliver Queen had shown up at her cubicle one sunny Wednesday afternoon - and the rest was history. A complicated, painful, bizarre, _wonderful_ history - but it was her history nonetheless.

If anyone had told Felicity Smoak ten years ago this would be her life, she would have laughed in their face… and then probably hacked into their computer to find what kind of hallucinatory drugs they were on.

Ten years can change _everything_ \- and Felicity is incredibly grateful everyday for it.

____________________________

If anyone had asked Oliver Queen what his perfect day was ten years ago, the answer would have been a complete 360 degree shift from what he would say now.

A decade ago, he was on an island. In the North China Sea.

Ten years ago, his perfect day would have been a day where there’s fresh food, running water, and not the lingering feeling that he had a target plastered to the back of his head.

But, as the years go on, his days change. He goes to China, then Russia, then back to Lian Yu.

His ideas of a perfect day morph by the hour.

Some days it is just seeing Thea or Tommy again; some days it’s a huge, greasy cheeseburger. Other’s it’s a time machine so he can go back and save those he’s lost (not as many as he eventually will, but already more than he can bare).

Most days it’s the simple release of death.

Each year brought different heartaches and by the end of his five years in hell his perfect day is just a day where he gets to see his family one last time.

Then, he came home.

Life was still gritty and dangerous and painful; but he was home. He was with his family again.

He put arrows in people. He righted his father’s wrongs. He protected Thea.

Even then, the most perfect day he could imagine in his mind was death.

Then John Diggle came along. And Felicity Smoak. Roy Harper not soon after and his life had… meaning. It had purpose. He wasn’t just mindlessly putting arrows in people’s chests; he was making a real difference.

He was protecting Starling City, the city his father loved - and in that way, still honoring him as well as Tommy.  

At that point in his life, his perfect day would be spending time with his mother and sister, and then ending the day with his Arrow family (he would have never called them that at the time, but yeah, that’s what they were) hunting down bad guys.

Over the next few years, his life made more dramatic shifts in losing people, painful realizations and god-awful bad guys (with a little bit of hope thrown in and a _lot_ of love) than all his years “on the island” combined.

But the core has remained the same - his perfect day involves those he loves feverishly and protecting the city he calls home unreservedly. The details don’t matter.

And if anyone had told Oliver Queen ten years ago that his idea of a perfect day would end with him curled up on the couch, absentmindedly running his fingers through his girlfriend’s blonde hair as she babbles animatedly, well - he would have called them insane. And then probably put an arrow in them.

A _lot_ can change in ten years.

“All I’m saying is that if this whole Smoak Tech start-up doesn't work out, the look on the board's faces when I told them I was starting my own company that would rival most of their marketed products - _starting_ with the biostimulant - would be reward enough. I mean, I generally don’t take enjoyment in others misfortune, but when it comes to the people who fired me and tried to lay-off half their employees? I do. I _totally_ do.”

Oliver grins down at his girlfriend, still reveling in the privilege of being able to call her that again. And marveling at her ability to talk so fast. Her babbles are one of his favorite characteristics about her and when they were apart he had heard them far too infrequently.

He hopes he never has to live without them again.

“You’re going to be amazing. Mr. Dennis and the rest of the board will regret ever letting you go. Especially once you get the biostimulant on the market.”

He continues to run his hands through her hair and down her back, feeling the goosebumps his fingers elicit as they gently rub her spine. It’s been almost two years since the shooting that left her paralyzed from the waist down, and even less time since she’d regained her ability to walk. The wounds that the bullets had left when they exited her body and the scars from her surgeries she’d undergone was still a sensitive spot for her - and a sensitive subject for Oliver.

It didn’t matter how much time passed or how many apologies he carved out with his lips against her skin; nothing he did could make him feel less guilty about leaving her feeling abandoned when she needed him most.

“Right? Curtis said the projections for our sales of the biostimulant are, in his words, ‘victory dance worthy’. Not that I do victory dances...”

Oliver’s mouth quirks, his fingers still tangled in her hair. “Sure you don’t.”

“Whatever Curtis told you, he is a filthy liar.”

He chuckles. “Curtis didn’t tell me anything. I just know you.”

She moves her head up from where it had been laying in the curve of his neck to send him a disbelieving glare.

“....And I had him pull up the security footage in the bunker.”

“Traitor!” She pokes his side in what is no doubt supposed to be a battle move but just feels like a light tickle. He can’t tell her that though, since it may wound her pride. And she’s adorable right now.

“Ow,” he feigns, rubbing the spot she poked. “I don’t know what the big deal is. It’s cute.”

Felicity narrows her eyes at that and he can tell she is fighting a smile.

“Let’s just say my tendency to occasionally victory dance is a closely coveted secret known by few.” She moves to straddle him then, her hips pinning him down in what is probably supposed to be predatory but ends up just turning him on.

“Can I trust you, Mr. Queen?”

His eyes darken -  something between amusement and lust. _Mr. Queen_ had always got his blood rushing (a fact Felicity has known and benefited from.)

“You can trust me, Ms. Smoak.”

“Nobody can know my secret,” she says in her best Arrow impression, which makes him laugh out loud. She joins him, all pretense of sexy, predatory vixen gone and she is back to his adorable, giggly girlfriend.

Neither can really be mad though at the change in the tension, since just months ago a scene like this would have been unimaginable for both of them.

She covers his lips with a few sloppy, easy kisses and then eases her head back onto his chest. He can tell she’s exhausted by the delay in her movements and the fact that she is not initiating anything more tonight.

It’s fine, he doesn’t really care - they have all the time in the world for that.

He continues to rub her back gently, as his mind drifts in and out of what he needs to do tomorrow - pack Felicity a lunch, meet with the school district to discuss budget cuts, call Samantha to make plans to pick up William for the weekend.

He gets so lost in his own thoughts that he doesn’t notice the woman in his arms has completely passed out. Her breaths are even, her weight dead on top of him.

He gently shakes her shoulders, testing how deep she is. He had no qualms with carrying her upstairs but he also knows how much of a ninja Felicity can be when she’s in that half-awake, half-asleep state and he doesn’t particularly feel like being kneed in the stomach tonight.

“Felicity?”

She gives a soft grunt in response, snuggling further into his side. “Mmph. Don’t eat my cheese puffs, penguin.”

Oliver chokes on a laugh - sometimes he forgets what a weird sleep-talker Felicity can be.

“Okay, hon. I promise I won’t let him eat your cheese puffs, we just have to go to bed.”  

He began to shift his body from under her and lift himself off the couch before adjusting her in his arms. She stirs a bit, letting out a small groan but otherwise stays completely asleep.

Felicity is a blindingly bright light of energy when she's awake, but asleep she's essentially a dead body. When he reaches their bed - _god_ , it felt good to say that again - he gently lays her down, pulling the comforter up to cover the thin straps of her tank top. He takes off his Henley, leaving him shirtless before moving to his side and squeezing in next to her.

She rolls over - she searches for his warmth even when she’s dead asleep, which makes his heart clench. He guides her body closer until her back is to his front, her legs wedged in between his and his arm tucked protectively across her stomach.

Perfection.

She moans softly, snuggling into him like she hasn’t felt human contact in days. “Mmm… love you,” she mumbles, so quietly that if his head wasn’t right next to hers he probably would have missed it.

It’s kind of ridiculous - he’s heard those words from her mouth a million different times in countless circumstances but they never fail to make his heart stutter in his chest.

_This girl._

He presses a light kiss to the back of her neck, although he’s certain she has already drifted back to sleep and won’t hear his response. He doesn’t care.

“Love you too, Felicity.”

As it turns out, no one has to go back a full ten years to completely surprise Oliver with the answer to what his life would be like now.

Hell, ask him three months ago and he wouldn’t have believed he’d be here.

His past is messy and painful and _occasionally_ wonderful. But it is very definitively his _past_ and he has no interest in rehashing it now. But this life has now, with this woman in his arms? This life is very much his future.

And if anyone asked him now what he thought his life would be like in ten years the answer would begin and end with her name.

              _____________________

Sirens wail in the distance. He knows he’s in the right place.

He stands, looking out the window at the part of the city that had once been his home, so many years ago that it feels like a different life. It had been, in a way. Not a particularly good life, but a life nonetheless.

He finds it a little bit ironic, however; every time he comes back to Star City it’s like returning from the dead.

(Sometimes, it actually is.)

The first time had been a gift of sorts (or at least he thought it was). What his return home had really turned out to be was another chance for him to prove what a screw-up he was. How he wasn’t ready to return to his family and probably never would be.

The second time, he’d been assumed dead. He had returned and stayed underground, hoping no one would notice his brief visit. That time, it felt like returning to a place he remembered, but didn’t know anymore. All the key pieces of Star City were there - the skyscrapers, the constant wail of sirens in the distance, graffiti painted on almost every building in the Glades  - but something felt off, like the small inconsistencies that make you realize you’re in a dream.

The pub he used to pass right outside the Glades on his way home from work? It had gone out of business and was now a Big Belly Burger. The streets names he used to be able to recite from memory effortlessly, were changed to names he didn’t recognize like _Queen Blvd_ and _Palmer Place_. He remembered there used to be only cops patrolling the streets at night and now there was this new “vigilante” trend.

Star City had changed as much as he had.

He may have lost an eye since the last time he’d been home but Star City was the one that lost the ability to see clearly.

So, he’d left. Again.

There was no one to kiss goodbye because there was no one that knew he was alive. Or even if they did - they wouldn’t care anyway. He’d learned that leaving was easier when you felt you had nothing to come back to.

And now, he was back again. Under circumstances more bizarre than when he had “come back from the dead” even, but still.

He wasn’t fooling himself this time though; wasn’t secretly hoping for some pathetic return to normalcy. Even here and _now_ , when the possibility of seeing his family was the highest, he didn’t even hope. Even if he, by some miracle, got normalcy back, it wouldn’t taste the same. He wouldn’t recognize it.

He had learned a long time ago to think of himself as a trigger-puller, not a man. A killer versus a human being. It made things easier.

Floyd Lawton had been called many things in his life, but Deadshot would be the one that stuck.

He shut the blinds then, shielding himself to the view of the city. The Glades didn’t have much to offer scenically, but the lights from clubs and 24 hour bars always illuminated the night in an ironic sort of way (who would ever want to see the Glades ever, let alone at night?)

Chugging a shot of whiskey (alcohol was one of the few he brought with him on this little trip) he looks around the darkened apartment. It’d been one he’d rented during his second home-coming to Star City, all those years ago. He knew the apartment would still be under lease. He knew no one would look for him there - or anywhere.

The pictures he’d brought with him (brought with him everywhere, really)  were tacked to the chipped paint of the wall, faces he shuddered when he thought about.

On the top left corner, a picture of his ex-wife and his daughter. He hadn’t seen either of them in an amount of years he was beginning to lose track of, didn’t even know if they were still in Star City at this point in time. How old would his daughter be? Did she remember him? Had Kathy remarried yet?

He didn’t know if it was cruel or sweet that he kept their picture. He half-hoped that it was a cruel form of torture to himself, because that would mean he still felt something.

In the center of the wall right below that picture was his collection. For lack of a better term.  

If anyone were to raid his apartment, this would be the dead giveaway he was a hitman. It was probably stupid of him to leave it out in the open like this but at the same time - _who the hell cares?_

It was a stalker’s wet dream - photographs taken at varying angles, most of the time without the person’s knowledge, such a wide variety of faces that no one could call it a pattern.

A giant X in red pen crossed out all of them except for one. _Successful hits_.

Floyd didn’t know if he kept them as trophies or as punishment. At this point, what did it really matter?

Most faces he didn’t know beyond what they looked like with a bullet lodged inside their head, but some burned in his memory more than others. _Is this was guilt feels like?_

No… he’d stopped feeling that a long time ago. Whiskey helped.

He grabs the bottle and stares at the picture in the center: his next hit. He studies the photo, noting the differences in her appearance from what he knew of her.

It would be a simple enough job. Floyd had definitely dealt with worse.

And while he was here, he had decided to make the most of his visit. He’d help out an old friend. He had a debt to pay back and while he was in a thriving Star City, he intended to pay it.  Two birds, one stone.

Floyd laughs sardonically. Normally he wasn’t such a go-getter like this. Perhaps he was wrong about thinking returning to Star City would be a mistake.

Maybe third time’s the charm.

He looks at the photo again, the blonde hair and piercing blue eyes of Felicity Smoak easily recognizable, although he hasn’t seen her in years. The picture he’d snapped that day shows her getting into a car right outside City Hall, a fleeting smile on her face as the wind swept her hair back.

He drains the rest of the whiskey. _What a pity._

But a job’s a job, he figures. And if there is one philosophy Floyd Lawton still believes in it’s you don’t earn the money until the job is finished.

Floyd may be a lot of things - a drunk, a pessimist, a hitman, a killer - but he is _not_ a quitter.

_Sorry sweetheart_ , he thinks, as he looks at the photo again. _A job’s a job_ \- and he can’t in good conscience leave until there is a large, red X through Felicity Smoak’s pretty face.


	2. Chapter 2

It’s 9:13 am by the time Felicity walks into her old office at Palmer Tech the next morning, slightly out of breath from dodging people to get to the elevator in time and only a little embarrassed by the reason behind her tardiness.

(It had started with Oliver waking her up with coffee, his saccharine voice filling her half-conscious ears with _“come take a shower with me.”_   She was too sleepy to really respond and now she was 15 minutes late because naked Oliver brings out the absolute worst in her. And she doesn’t even feel bad about it.)

Curtis is already waiting for her there, a small cup of coffee snug in his hand and a matching one placed on Felicity’s desk. He knows her so well.

“Morning sunshine!” He greets cheerfully, reminding Felicity for the billionth time what a terrible morning person he was. At least he brought her coffee.

By this point, they’d spent more mornings together than Felicity can count. From late nights that turn to early mornings taking care of Team Arrow business to the 9 am meetings they had at Palmer Tech to discuss their new business endeavor - Smoak Technologies - they had easily adapted to their roles as business partners… including knowing what level of enthusiasm is appropriate for early mornings interactions. (Hint: next to none.)

But Felicity couldn’t grumble too much about her annoyingly chipper friend - she was still thanking her lucky stars he had agreed to her spontaneous yet logical business endeavor when she had shown up on his doorstep one morning two months ago with two lattes and more than a little paperwork.

He’d been hesitant at first - ironically, financial risks weren’t something Curtis liked to take - but had eventually agreed under the condition that they rely heavily on their Palmer Tech severance packages and market things that will make the world a better place - his implantable biostimulant, for one.

After several weeks, Smoak Technologies was more than just a pipe dream. It was a real, tangible thing, a purpose Felicity didn’t even know she needed until she could see it with her own eyes.  

That’s not to say their baby company hadn’t seen its fair share of ups and downs - it was still a start-up, meaning funding was an absolute pain in the ass and because of logistics and the fact that Ray Palmer was still “dead” to the majority of the public, Felicity still had ties to Palmer Tech that she couldn’t unbind herself from.

They’d tried to use that little tidbit for their advantage though, using Felicity’s old office at Palmer Tech as their temporary workspace and having bi-weekly meetings with the board of Palmer Tech to negotiate getting the complete rights to all the other inventions Curtis had made while working there.

Technicalities were hell, the board sucked and Felicity prayed to a higher power every day that after these negotiations were over she would never have to look at stupid Mr. Dennis’ face ever again.

They had another meeting this morning at 9:30 and - god willing - it would be the last one they would need where they could hopefully work out a happy compromise for the two companies.

Curtis watches Felicity as she grabs her latte from the desk, inhaling it more than sipping. “Late night?” Curtis asks, and she doesn’t miss the teasing tone in his voice.

Rolling her eyes and taking another sip she says, “If by late night you mean the top secret stuff you and I _both_ do and then promptly passing out around 1 am on the couch, then _yes_.”

“Well, _partner_.” He walks over and drops a manila folder of paperwork on her desk. “I suggest you inhale that latte because we have a very boring meeting with very boring people in about ten minutes and I want your A game because the longer we go without making money the more likely it is that I’ll cancel my Amazon Prime membership. So…”

Felicity sets her coffee down and fiddles with the collar of her dress. She’d gone with a light magenta dress today, hoping the bright color would impact her mood and make her feel more optimistic for their meeting - so far, not really working but the day is still young.

“Right,” she breathes, standing up to make her way across the room. “Let’s go show those jerks who the real MVP’s are.”

They reach the elevator and Curtis turns to her, raising his hand in a fist-bump motion. “Don’t call it a comeback…”

“I’ve been here for years!”

They bump their fists together lightly, snickering at their little inside joke. It is by far the dorkiest thing they do and Felicity kind of hates how much she loves it.

“So, if Mr. Dennis tries to bribe us away from moving forward with the microchip or any of your other brilliant inventions we politely ask for the room to ‘consider’ it…” She reminds him as she reaches to press the down button.

“And really just make fun of him the whole time,” Curtis adds.

“Well, _duh._ But then! We call the board back in, try to give our best serious business faces and then tell them that we ‘respectfully’ consider their offer but uh… they can go screw themselves.”

“Poetic.”

“Thank you.”

“I can’t tell you how much I would love to tell Mr. Dennis to his face what a gigantic dick he is but…”

Felicity sways in place, still waiting for the ding of the elevator doors. “Right. I guess saying “screw off” isn’t really corporate appropriate… or so I’ve been told.”

“Probably not,” Curtis amends. “But I’d be happy to hack into his cell phone and change his ringtone to Cotton Eyed Joe as soon as this is over.”

Felicity grins. Now _that’s_ a compromise she is happy to make.

A few moments pass with no sign of the elevator and she sighs, checking the time on her phone. “This elevator is taking longer than my multi-byte XML processor takes to update,” she quips, snorting at her own tech-joke.

She is fully expecting a laugh from Curtis, or at the very least a high-five - because, _hello,_ that was a solid tech nerd joke - but he doesn’t. In fact, he doesn’t seem to be even listening to her at all. His eyes are trained on her forehead in a way that is sort of unsettling.

“Uh… Curtis? You okay there?”

His unreadable expression morphs into confusion as he stands there, frozen.

She waves her hand in front of his face slowly. “Earth to Curtis…”

Suddenly, Curtis is grabbing her forcefully by the shoulders and pulling her to the ground with more gusto than she realized he had. She makes a disgruntled noise, because _hello_ he almost yanked her shoulder out of its socket when -

_Pop pop pop._

Bullets? Palmer Tech? What the-

Another chorus of bullets ring out and the glass window that spans the entire floor shatters. She tries to make out as much as she can from the corner of the room where Curtis and her are now shielding themselves but it’s futile. Bullets are ricocheting off every surface in her office like they’re in a warzone and she can’t for the _life_ of her understand why this is happening.

Hasn’t she had enough near-death experiences with bullets for her lifetime? Hasn’t she filled her quota?

Belatedly, it occurs to her - hey, her (former) office is on the nineteenth floor. Of a corporate building in the middle of the city. How are they being targeted all the way up here? Is the shooter adjacent from them?

She’s whipped from her thoughts when a bullet nearly pierces Curtis’ arm where it’s peeking from behind the wall that’s covering them. They’re basically sitting ducks right now, especially if Palmer Tech is under attack.

They need to find a way out of here - fast.

“Curtis! Are you okay?”

“I’m okay. Not dead. I don’t think.”

“You’re not dead, Curtis.” She beginning to dig for her phone that’s snug in the pocket of her dress when the elevator pings. The doors open to reveal two security guards, guns held tightly in their hands. Poor guys, she thinks. This is definitely above their Palmer Tech pay grade.

“Ms. Smoak, are you alright?”

“We’re okay,” her voice comes out shaky and uneven, but her words are true enough. They’re not hurt - for now. “We just might need a little shielding so we don’t, you know, get shot.”

Every few moments, a new rainstorm of bullets ransacks the floor and she knows at this velocity it would only take one hit to either of them to do some serious damage.

One of the security guards seems to understand their dilemma and signals them to wait.

“I’ll tell you both when to run,” he shouts, moving to the far side of the elevator so he can see when they have a clear path.

Seconds tick by and the guard motions with his gun for them to move. They don’t hesitate and before Felicity can even release a shriek she is inside the elevator, the doors closing anticlimactically. She takes a moment to let the relief wash over her.

When the elevator starts moving, the world comes back to her.

“My employees!” She blurts, frantic. “Are any of them hurt?”

And she is too caught up in the panic of the moment to realize her slip - okay, maybe they weren’t _her_ employees anymore because technically she wasn’t CEO anymore and had no legal attachments to them - but they were still _her_ employees, dammit. These were the people she hired two years ago, the people whose desks she walked by every day on her way to her office, the people who signed a company-wide _get well_ card when she had been in the hospital after Darhk’s attack. None of them deserved to get hurt.

“No, ma’am. Not as far as I know,” one of the security guards answers. “But SCPD is on the scene. They’ll likely want to ask you a few questions.”

She heaves a sigh of relief and relaxes slightly, sagging against the elevator wall when the officer’s words catch up to her.

“Wait… question me? Why me?”

Because, sure, she’s a prominent figure in the media thanks to being the girlfriend of Star City’s mayor and a disabled former CEO, but that doesn’t make her the only candidate for SCPD’s questioning. Palmer Tech employs about 500 or so people, surely _one_ of them would be better suited to describe the shooting - especially since she hadn’t seen much tucked away in a corner of her office anyway.

The guards exchange a wary glance before continuing, “Well, Ms. Smoak… you and Mr. Holt were the only ones attacked.”

“What?”

“There’s been no other reports of gunshots in any other area of the building. We got an alert from security footage and saw the attack, that’s how we knew to come assist you. But no other floors besides your office were attacked, ma’am.”

Felicity has about a dozen follow-up questions but before she can fire them off the elevator doors open and she takes in the chaos that is Palmer Tech’s lobby. Phones are incessantly ringing, police sirens are wailing, employees are being ushered out of the building by SCPD and she’s pretty sure she can make out a least one van for Channel 4 News on the scene already.

News travels fast. Which means…

As if on cue, her cell phone begins vibrating in her pocket and Felicity doesn’t even bother glancing at the caller ID before answering.

“Hi, honey,” she sighs, already feeling more calm at the sound of his voice.

“Oh _thank god_ ,” he breathes in lieu of hello. “Felicity, are you okay? My assistant told me there was a shooting at Palmer Tech - _what happened?_ ” His voice is rough and pragmatic so as not to betray his panic, but she knows him better than that. She can tell he’s trying to hold himself together and fight every urge in his body to run to Palmer Tech right now.

“I’m okay. The floor where my office is - or, my old office - was attacked but it was just Curtis and I up there and neither of us were hurt.” He expels a harsh breath, probably both in relief that she wasn’t hurt and delayed panic that she could have been. “SCPD might want us to stay for questioning, but we’re totally fine,” she assures him.

“I need to see you.”

“I can meet you at the bunker in 15 minutes.”

“Dig and I will meet you there,” he tells her. “Be safe.”

“I will,” she promises, although given what just happened that is probably the last promise she is certified to make.

As soon as she disconnects the call, an officer approaches her.

“Ms. Smoak,”  He’s an unfamiliar man with thin, graying hair and Felicity aches with nostalgia for the days when Quentin Lance was the cop stapled at every crime scene. Who would have thought she would consider those the good old days?

“SCPD would like to ask you a few questions about the shooting, unless you require medical attention first.”

“No, no, I’m fine. Do you guys have any information on the shooter?”

“No, miss. We have cops placed at every intersection, questioning any possible witnesses from where we suspect the shooter came from but no leads yet.”

“Where _do_ you suspect the shooter fired from? We were on the _19th_ floor.”

“We think they were at the building adjacent to Palmer Tech - a high rise apartment building. We’re currently questioning the owners to find out which tenants live on the 19th floor, then we’ll bring them in for questioning.”

She wants to laugh at that - if the shooter did indeed live on the nineteenth floor of that apartment building, there is no way he would risk coming back to the apartment. Or even use his real name on the lease. What was it like to see the world from the rose-tinted glass of the SCPD?

“Ms. Smoak, what is your relationship with Mr. Dennis?”

Is conversational whiplash a thing? Because if so, she definitely has it.

“Um, what?”

“Mr. Dennis. The head of the Board of Directors for Palmer Tech. What is your relationship to him?”

“Relationship? Uh…” What is a diplomatic way of saying he is the man who fired her and is currently using his position of power to keep her business partner from accessing the inventions he created?

Also, he’s an asshole.

She smiles politely. “We’re former colleagues.”

“Are you aware of the recent budget cuts and employee downsizing Mr. Dennis has implemented?”

“I am, unfortunately.”

The officer writes something down in the notepad he’s holding before addressing her again. “We can’t say for certain, Ms. Smoak, but we are inclined to believe that is attack has more to do with Mr. Dennis than you or Mr. Holt, or even the company itself.”

“More to do with Mr. Dennis… how so?”

“It was more of an attack on his public image and the image of the company than an attack on you or Mr. Holt personally. We have no reason to suspect otherwise.”

Felicity considers this. It’s a logical conclusion, and while it doesn’t quell the sour taste in her mouth, it is at least an answer.

“Do you have any suspects?”

“None in custody. But we have a team that will investigate further, go over recently fired employees and see if any leads come from there.”

She nods, knowing this is all the officer will be able to offer her. It’s not much, and while she will _definitely_ be scanning security footage when she gets back to the bunker, it’ll do for now.

She turns, making a beeline for the exit to avoid any nosy reporters - the name _Susan Williams_ echoes in her brain and she thinks the only thing that would be worse than almost dying would be being interviewed by one of Oliver’s ex-girlfriends.

“Curtis!” She spots him standing in the lobby, his cell phone hanging precariously from his hand. “I’m meeting Oliver and Dig at the... _place._ You wanna come?”

“I think I’m gonna go home. Take the rest of the day for myself.”

He looks shaken up and she can’t really blame him. Twenty minutes ago, she had come centimeters away from dying and it mostly hadn't phased her. Team Arrow life has really made her blasé towards near death experiences - a thought that both concerns her and makes her proud.

“That’s probably a good idea.” She gives him a small smile. “Thank you, Curtis.”

“For what?”

“For saving my life. If it weren’t for you, I could’ve been shot again. And we both know how not fun that was the last time. I would hate to relive it.” She musters a laugh, but it sounds fake even to her own ears and she knows Curtis won’t be fooled. Being the good friend he is, he lets her pretend.

“Anytime, Felicity. You know how much I’d hate to face the board without my partner.”

As he turns to leave, another question pops into Felicity’s head - so blatantly obvious it startles her she didn’t think to ask it before.

“Curtis _._ Your back was to the window.”  

“Huh?”

“Earlier. Upstairs. Before the shooting. Your back…” She fumbles her words, trying desperately to communicate what is making her heart beat erratically.

“You - you weren’t facing the window. But you still pushed me out of the way before the bullets hit. How did you…?”

Curtis nods - if anyone can decode her ramble, it’s him. “There was a red dot. On your forehead.”

Okay. A red dot. Obviously.

“Wait, what?”

“You know... like in the movies when a gun is being pointed at you from a distant vantage point. I don’t know what type of artillery that would be, I only know this much because I’ve seen the Bourne Identity like five times. Matt Damon is really fine-”

“ _Curtis_.” Felicity cuts him off. “It was aimed directly at me?”

“Yeah. Well, at your forehead.” He gestures to the small space between her eyebrows. An area of her face she has never paid particular attention to but now feels like she needs to lather in bleach. “Pretty crazy, huh?”

Crazy would be one word to describe it. _Terrifying_ would be another.

Her brain is in the midst of processing this when she realizes Curtis is still talking to her. “Sorry… erm. What?”

“I just… I mean, it was pretty crazy timing if you think about it. The fact that it was us up in the executive suite and not Mr. Dennis or any of the other board members who might not have seen it or gotten out of the way in time. That it was me who noticed it and not the other way around, since I’m the Olympic bronze medalist with stellar reflexes.”

“I…” She doesn’t know how to respond. To anything in that sentence. “I have good reflexes.”

“Last week you knocked your coffee over with your elbow when I got on comms because you forgot I was there. _Twice_.”

“Fair point.”

“All I’m saying is, as crappy as this day has been it would've been a lot worse if it were anybody else..”

She pinches her lips together. This is just a crazy coincidence, right? That’s what the cops said. That’s what Curtis is implying. So why is the sinking feeling in her gut telling her differently?

“We’re lucky, Felicity.”

And with that little gem of achingly familiar optimism, Curtis gives a small wave and walks away.

“Yeah,” she echoes, the words tasting foreign on her tongue. “Lucky.”

__________________________

 

When Felicity arrives at the bunker, she is still feeling unbalanced but is determined to push those feelings aside for the sake of her boys, mainly Oliver. She knows from experience, if she gives off even the slightest hint that she is shaken from today he’ll suit up and hit the streets, frantically looking for leads that might not exist. Or, in a much more likely and dramatic scenario, he won’t let her out of his sight for days - and she honestly can’t handle either kind of reaction today.

Oliver and Diggle are standing by her station when she walks in, wearing matching frowns and looking stern with their arms crossed over their chests.

When he sees her, Oliver practically runs to her, winding his arms around her body tightly. She allows herself this - this small moment of comfort - and lets her mask fall. She buries her face in his neck, inhaling his scent -- he smells like the coffee he had brewed her this morning and his musky cologne, a smell so uniquely _him_ that it always feels like home when she’s engulfed in it.

“Are you okay?” He rubs her back gently, leaning back to get a good look at her.

“Yes. See?” She caresses his cheek and he involuntarily closes his eyes at her touch. She secretly loves that, loves that her touch is as comforting to him as his is to her. “I’m safe. Totally fine.”

“Where’s Curtis?”

“He went home. I think he was kind of shaken up. Remind me again how we ever let him on the streets?” Felicity wonders, chuckling.

“Tell us what happened,” Dig says, joining them and giving her shoulder a squeeze.

“There’s not much else to tell. Someone opened fire on the executive suite - my old office  - right before Curtis and I left for our meeting. Curtis got me out of the way in time and we stayed hidden until security came to find us. You know, just your run of the mill ambush.”

Oliver gives her an unamused look. He apparently doesn’t appreciate her trying to make light of the whole almost dying thing. But if she doesn’t, who will?  

“Did they catch the guy?” Dig asks.

“Not yet. SCPD has an investigation going but… with no fatalities or casualties, it’ll probably be on the back burner of all things the police have to deal with.”

Dig rolls his eyes but agrees. SCPD is in over their heads on a good day, so it’s unlikely they will investigate too deeply if the suspect doesn’t offer themselves up on a silver platter within a day or two.

“We can look into it,” Oliver declares, walking over to his suit.

“Hold up - this is a little below your pay grade too, Green Arrow.”

“Someone almost _killed_ you today, Felicity,” he rebuts, appalled. “Seems like the perfect time to hit the streets.”

“Hey. First of all, we don’t know that for sure.”

Which is… more or less true. Felicity tries not to feel guilty for the half-truth she has told her boys, but she convinces herself it’s the right thing to do for now. She can tell them later when this whole thing has blown over and they’re reminiscing over mai-tai’s. When Oliver isn’t bent out of shape on adrenaline and Felicity’s isn’t hearing the sound of bullets hitting glass on repeat in her head.

It’ll be fine. They’ll have a laugh about it… she hopes.

“SCPD thinks it has more to do with Mr. Dennis’ business tactics than a personalized attack against us. I was probably just in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“And if it's more than that?”

“Well… we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”

“No.”

“Excuse me?”

“I’m not ‘crossing that bridge when we come to it’ because crossing that bridge could mean you hurt and that is not something I will just sit around and wait for,” he returns roughly, already starting to unzip his suit from its mannequin.

She rolls her eyes. “I’m going to be _fine_ , Oliver.”

“I’ll hit the streets and look for this guy. You stay here in the bunker until I do.”

“ _Oliver_ …” she warns, taking a deep breath to calm herself, because the last thing either of them needs right now is a fight.

“You’re wasting too much time on what is most likely a disgruntled Palmer Tech employee with a temper problem. If SCPD thinks it was someone upset with the recent layoffs at the company, then it probably is. We have to let them do their own jobs _some_ of the time.”

Oliver ignores her, still removing his suit from the mannequin. Okay, so apparently she is dealing with impulsive, impatient Oliver today and not rational, mature Oliver which she’s become so accustomed to lately. Noted.  

“Where was the shooter firing from?” Dig intervenes, saving her from what would have probably been a pretty biting comment to Oliver.

She sighs. “The police think it was from the hi-rise apartment building adjacent to Palmer Tech. They’re going through a list of potential suspects based on the tenants.”

Oliver scoffs. “The hi-rise? On Lincoln Boulevard in the middle of Star City? You think a Palmer Tech employee - especially a recently laid off one could afford to live there? Felicity, no one could afford that place except maybe Dennis himself,” he points out, a fact she had considered on the way to the bunker before pushing it out of her mind.

Truthfully, the more she focuses on the incident, the more pieces don’t line up with what SCPD want to believe happened and she really, really, _really_ doesn’t want to have a full-blown bad guy on her hands. Not with half of the team gone.

Could this bad guy maybe come back in like 3-5 weeks?

“And what attempted murderer would want to shoot from his own apartment - that’s just begging to be caught, even under a fake name.” Dig’s comment is making Oliver’s whole argument sound more logical and reasonable and Felicity is _hating_ this.

“Either way,” Dig continues, “that apartment is still a four-lane street away from Palmer Tech. Anyone that’s going to shoot from that far away and have any hope of hitting their target would have to be-”

“A sniper.” Oliver’s finishes. “It would have to be a sniper.”

As if connecting pieces of a puzzle, Diggle’s eyes snap to meet Oliver’s. “Think it’s coincidence we might have met one in the Glades last night?”

Oliver rolls his shoulders, which she knows are undoubtedly impossibly tense. “Probably not.”

Felicity knows she’s lost this battle with Oliver to his fears, and while she can’t fault him for being concerned, she doesn’t appreciate that his default is to make these decisions _for_ her. Especially when his decisions making skills in the past have been subpar, at best. And Susan Williams at worst, but she won’t bring up that can of worms today.

And if she’s being completely honest, the idea that she is the attempted target of a well-trained sniper _scares_ her. This life has hardened her in a lot of ways - she’s always ready for the next shoe to drop, less trusting than she’d been five years ago, and she doesn’t see the world in black and white but in tones of gray. She’s tougher than she had been - fierce and unyielding. But she is still human. And an attack on her life - especially a premeditated one - petrifies her.

Whether it's selfishness or self-preservation, the longer she can keep Oliver from uncovering what may be a terrifying truth the longer she can live in the calm called denial as well.

Ignorance is bliss... or something like that.

“Oliver,” she counters, one last attempt. “SCPD is still gathering evidence. We have no leads to go on yet aside from the ones that _you’re_ assuming. We have no idea if it’s a sniper, and even if it is, if it’s the same one the team supposedly encountered in the Glades last night.”

He pauses. The logical side of his brain is starting to stir, and she knows he’s realizing the flaws in his argument. But he’s still too stubborn to admit to it yet.

“Even so-”

“No, Oliver. We have zero idea what the shooting in Palmer Tech was even about. For all we know SCPD already caught the guy!” She gestures to her computer and Oliver gives her a blank stare. “Okay, yeah, knowing the SCPD probably not but _still._ You’re wasting your energy on a problem that might already have a solution. With the threats up against the city, not only as Green Arrow but as the _mayor_ , you have more important things to deal with.”

“A shooter seems like something the Green Arrow should be interested in.”

She crosses her arms, her patience waning. “You take down psychotic killers and leagues of dangerous assassins - you don’t exactly go after convenience store robberies and disgruntled employees who _didn’t even hurt anyone._ ”

 _Technically_ , she keeps herself from adding. Although the shooter was aiming directly at her forehead he (or she) didn’t hurt anyone… technically.

Oliver hesitates, mulling over her words as Dig steps in. “What if I watch over her, Oliver?”

Felicity gives him a quick side-eye. “I don’t think I need a babysitter, Dig.”

Dig shoots her a look that says _humor me_ and she knows this means this is the closest to a compromise with an irrational Oliver they’ll get.

“I can stay with Felicity, act as her bodyguard instead of yours until we know for certain SCPD has caught the shooter. That way we can make sure she’s protected but she won’t have to deal with some random security detail keeping tabs on her. It’ll just be me, acting as her friend.”

“Well, I like to think we’re friends in real life, too...” Felicity mumbles under breath. Dig smirks.

Oliver seems to be internally debating, probably between what his knee-jerk reaction is and what he knows won’t lead to a fight with Felicity. She can tell he’s nervous, his thumb and forefinger doing their infamous twitch.

“I think I can handle that compromise,” she winks at Dig. “As long as _you,”_ she punctuates the word by grabbing hold of Oliver’s bicep, “don’t suit up - in the middle of the day, might I add, while I’m sure the mayor has some sort of meeting he’s supposed to be in - until we find some actual leads to go on.”

Finally, he sighs begrudgingly and covers her hand with his. “Fine. I don’t like it, but I’ll do it. Thank you, John.”

She gives him a grateful smile, leaning on her tiptoes to press a kiss to his cheek. It may not seem like much, but this is a win in her book. Not because she technically “won” the argument, but because of how much Oliver’s grown. A year ago, Oliver would have been out the door before she could say two words. Today, he’s standing in front of her after they made the decision together.

Not without a little bit of arguing, sure, but she’ll take the wins as she gets them.

“Now that _that’s_ settled…” she gives his arm one last squeeze and bounces back to her work station. “I’m going to run a few more searches on our trigger-happy friend from last night.”

Oliver shadows her, indecisive. She knows a part of him is screaming to hover over her the rest of the day, make sure nothing else happens to her. But they both know he has a day job and disappearing from it for hours on end with what are undoubtedly terrible excuses isn’t helping anything.

He bends down, taking her hand in his. “Do you want me to stay?”

She studies him; her incredible, _stubborn_ man -- all muscle and brute strength, covered in scars that show he’s been to hell and back, a fierceness in his eyes that has scared off more people than she’ll ever know -- all wrapped deceptively around this overprotective puppy who rubs her feet after a long day at work and makes her soup when she’s sick.

“No, honey. I’m okay. And I’ve got Dig here to keep me company. Plus you,” she pokes him lightly in the chest, “have some mayoring to do before the gala tonight.”

He closes his eyes, blowing out a breath. “The gala. Tonight. Right. I completely forgot.”

“I hope you didn’t forget that the mayor is required to give a dedication speech before dinner starts. And I really hope you plan on giving it because dinner is literally the only reason I’m going.” He raises his eyebrows. “I mean… besides you of course.”

“I have to go to that, huh?”

“Given the fact that you are the one who spearheaded the foundation to build this community center in the Glades… yes.”

He sighs in mock defeat but she can tell he is secretly pleased with himself. For as much grief as he gets for being an MIA mayor, when he is present he does a spectacular job. She wishes he let himself revel in that sometimes.

“I’ll see you tonight,” he bends forward to give her a sweet kiss, lingering just a little before pulling away and licking his lips.

“Thanks again, John,” Oliver repeats, giving their partner a quick nod as he walks towards the elevators.

Once the familiar ding of the elevator doors closing sounds Felicity turns to Dig conspiratorially.

“So… I might be able to get behind this bodyguard thing if there were… I don’t know…. Big Belly Burger on the line?”

Dig snickers and shakes his head. “I’ll be right back.”

_____________________

It takes Felicity approximately 47 minutes to get ready for the gala that evening and approximately .07 seconds for Oliver to make that noise that’s halfway between a groan and a gasp that she loves.

Totally worth it.

They arrive to the gala separately since Oliver had to work late, and while Felicity had been a little disappointed, she had mostly enjoyed the prospect of teasing him with this dress all night long with him not being able to do a damn thing about it. (Until they got home, of course.)

To be fair, Felicity hadn’t arrived completely stag. Dig had shown up at the apartment right as she was walking out the door, a coy smile on his face when she had feigned polite surprise.

“Dig! I thought you were meeting us there?”

“Wouldn’t be much of a bodyguard if I let my client travel by herself?”

She’d rolled her eyes at that - didn’t he know they had just been exaggerating the term “bodyguard” in front of Oliver? It wasn’t much of an inside joke if the third party wasn’t here to appreciate said joke.

“Come on Dig, we both know Oliver is a paranoid freak sometimes. Take the night off and spend some time with your girls.”

“If you think I’m going to let Oliver Queen know that I let you out of my sight even for two minutes today Felicity, you are not the genius I took you to be.”

She’d huffed irritably and given him what she considered her most intimidating glare, which evidently wasn’t intimidating at all since he had still refused to leave her side all night. For as much as Dig was always the voice of reason between the three of them, she sometimes forgot how protective he could be, too.

That had been two hours ago, and while she wasn’t loving the feeling of being babysat, spending time with Dig was really no punishment at all.

Actually, she probably could handle whatever fussing over her Oliver had in mind after the reaction he’d given to her dress. Sure, she wasn’t pulling any punches with that one - it was a glittering green dress with a deep V-neck and open back and (most importantly to her) pockets. The awestruck look he’d had when he’d seen her had made her feel like a million dollars and made her _that_ much more anticipatory for later tonight when they'd be... alone.

They hadn’t been given much time for either to appreciate what the other was wearing (suspenders! Felicity had almost choked on her shrimp cocktail when she’d seen them) before Oliver had been whisked away to give his mayoral speech that Felicity was definitely giving all her attention to.

 _Most_ of her attention to.

Okay, barely any of her attention to.

She loves Oliver more than words, but after attending the tenth gala where he more or less gave the same speech - a not-so-fun game of political mad libs - she’d given herself the free pass to tune out. Honestly, she doubts Oliver would even blame her.

She glances at Dig, who is looking as enthralled as she feels and mercifully hands him a glass of champagne. “Hang in there, buddy,” she whispers.

After an amount of time that Felicity can only measure by the amount of shrimp cocktails she’s inhaled, applause erupts and Felicity startles so badly she almost drops her champagne.

“Thank god,” she mouths to Dig as Oliver makes his way off stage to cut the ceremonial ribbon. “How did Thea talk her way out of this one?”

“I think being the speechwriter 95% of the time gives her an out,” he whispers in her ear as he does a quick scan of the room. “Plus, she said she’d man the streets tonight in case something happened.”

“I can’t believe I’m jealous of someone who could potentially be getting their ass kicked right now.”  

Dig chuckles in agreement as Felicity leans in closer. “Sometimes I think-”

Before she can finish her sentence, the roar of gunshots rings out in the auditorium.

Dig grips her waist, pushing her to the floor with speed that could rival Barry’s. His body covers hers as more gunshots ring out, the sounds of glass shards flying piercing her ears.

“Oliver,” she hears Dig whisper and it belatedly occurs to her he must have his earpiece in. Dig still moonlights - daylights? - as Oliver’s bodyguard to keep up appearances, so of course he’d have an earpiece in.

Her stomach lurches at the thought of Oliver being on stage when the gunfire began- he’s the Green Arrow, sure, but he's not bulletproof.

A wave of nausea hits her. _Please_ , _please_ let Oliver be okay.

She can’t see much - Dig is shielding her in a way that blocks her line of vision almost entirely and the auditorium was dimly lit to begin with.

She distantly registers movement out of the corner of her eye and watches as several figures slowly emerge from the corners of the room. They’re all masked, and she counts eight men of various size wielding machine guns. They look typical for a heist crew, the only differentiating feature being a sleeve of similar tattoos on each man’s arm.

And maybe Felicity is biased but aren’t machine guns a bit overkill? If someone has the intention to kill, a regular handgun will do just fine.  Machine guns just scream ‘flashy action movie villain’. She didn't know anything about these men yet but she could already guess they were _lame._  

Suddenly, two strong hands grab her arm from behind and a terrified yelp leaves her lips.

“Felicity, shh. It’s me.”

Her body goes slack with relief. She’d recognize his voice _anywhere._

“You scared the _shit_ out of me!” she reprimands in a whisper-shout, her relief turning into fear-charged anger. Couldn’t he have figured out a less terrifying way to get her attention?

He gives her an apologetic shrug before turning to Dig. “Are there extra security detail on hand that we can call until SCPD gets here?”

“None that are responding to my code red,” Dig answers gruffly.

By Dig’s tension-laden voice and the way Oliver’s fingers are digging into her torso protectively, she can tell both men are aching to get up and do something. For Green Arrow and Spartan, taking out these armed men would be fairly easy. For Oliver Queen and John Diggle, however, taking out gunmen isn’t something they should be well-equipped at.

“Do we have any idea who these guys are?” Felicity questions, focusing in on their identical tattoos once again. All of the men had them, making them easily recognizable, except for one. Was he their leader? Do gangs even have a leader? Or was that just a mob thing? God, she really needed to learn how to correctly classify her bad guys.

“Probably one of the local gangs in the Glades,” Oliver answers. She recalls vaguely hearing something about that a while back, but truth be told the Glades are no better off now than they were six years ago and hearing about a violent gang walking those streets is neither shocking nor headline-making.

What _is_ headline-making is the fact that they all have machine guns. How did they get _those?_

As if on cue, one of the tattooed men walks on stage, firing off a few rounds into the wall to get everyone’s attention. Felicity almost scoffs at the theatrics of that. As if everyone’s attention wouldn’t _already_ be on the guys with machine guns.

“Listen up!”  He shouts and the room stills. “I know some of you don’t know who we are, so allow us to introduce ourselves,” he says. Felicity doesn’t know whether she’s impressed by the formality or annoyed by his monologuing.

“We are The Judgement,” he sneers, aiming his gun towards the crowd.

Annoyed. Definitely annoyed.

“We’re here to take back what’s ours. To take back our city! For years, all you rich, pretentious assholes have been coming into the Glades whenever it’s convenient for you - bulldozing our homes, closing up our jobs, trying to make us look as ‘fancy’ and ‘elegant’ as you think the rest of Star City is. Well we’re here to tell you…” - he whips around, pointing his gun at the sign hanging above with Oliver’s mayoral slogan engraved on it - “ _Glades Community Center - Making Star City A Place to Call Home’’ -_ and firing. “We don’t want it!”

Felicity shivers and shifts closer to Oliver. These weren’t your typical “give us your money and get out” thugs; these were guys that thought they had a purpose; a message.

And if fighting delusional bad guys has taught her anything, it’s that bad guys with a belief were the most dangerous

They were angrier, messier and - more often than not - deadlier.

“All of you think-”

Before Angry Gang Narrator can finish his sentence, all the lights in the auditorium switch off, leaving them immersed in complete darkness.

She doesn’t know what’s going on - is this a distraction to buy them more time until the police show up? Is it a random power outage in the Glades? Is this part of The Judgement’s spiel - are they going to do a PowerPoint presentation or something?

She can only hope that this glitch is coming from the good guys - maybe even from Curtis himself. If he intercepted anyone’s 911 calls and hacked into the electric company’s network, he could have easily remotely hacked the electrical system to buy them time.

She just really hopes these Judgement dudes have never heard of backup generators.

“I need to suit up, Felicity,” Oliver growls from behind her, sending shivers up her spine and not in the ‘ _thank god Green Arrow is going to save the day’_ way. These shivers are connected to a thread in her mind that is _so not_ appropriate for a hostage situation.

“But… I prefer you in this suit,” she pouts.

She knows he’s just thinking out loud, responding to the frantic situation in front of him. There’s no way he could suit up right now; not only would the entire gala realize their mayor is gone and _'whoa! The Green Arrow is here!'_  , he would have to leave to retrieve his suit, wasting what limited time they _do_ have. Plus, he would be forced to leave Felicity unprotected - it would be a half-assed plan, at best.

He would never do it. But that doesn’t mean every bone in his body isn’t aching to help.

“Maybe Thea’s already alerted and on her way,” Felicity offers, trying to be optimistic. She belatedly realizes this may not soothe him much - _hey Oliver, sorry you can’t suit up and defend helpless people against armed gunmen with a vendetta. But you know who can? Your baby sister! -_ but he seems to take it in stride and some of the tension in his shoulders eases.

“Stay close to me, baby.”

She caresses his fingers where they lay on her waist. “I will.”

She wants to turn around in his arms and give him a reassuring smile or at least a quick kiss to calm him but before she can contemplate doing so the lights turn back on without warning and she has to blink rapidly to adjust to the change.  

There are a few moments of eerie silence. No one moves, dreading what The Judgement’s next play will be.

Out of the corner of her eye, Felicity notices one of then men covered heavily in tattoos inch closer to them. He isn’t really participating in the chaos, which is odd. While the rest of The Judgement is quite obviously trying to regroup, he’s straying, unfazed.  

His demeanor is different than the rest - while the rest of the gang is jerky and angry, no doubt from inexperience and immaturity, he seems smooth and collected. His machine gun hangs precariously on his arm, like he’s carried one before.

The room is still rife with panic but all Felicity can focus on is man with a gun who is she has a sinking feeling is _not_ a member of The Judgement, despite wearing the same ski-masks as them.

He’s walking leisurely towards them, and if the machine gun didn’t already frighten Felicity his unsettling pace would. Who walks like that? Serial killers, that’s who.

Her fingers dig harder into Oliver’s, trying to capture his attention.

She doesn’t know if she does or not.

Because before she can do anything, the man is standing right in front of her, gun pointed directly at her head.

Everything feels like it’s moving in slow motion, like it’s happening around her not _to_ her.

The room goes silent. Somewhere, a woman screams. It might have been her.

She waits. And waits. And waits.

Then all hell breaks loose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that was a little... ridiculously long, I know. My bad ;)  
> And the Glades Gang was the campiest, most West-Side-Story-esque thing ever lol 
> 
> Kudos and comments are always appreciated :) let me know what you think!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the cliffhanger last chapter, ya'll. Bear with me - things are starting to ramp up!   
> Thanks for reading! xoxo

When Oliver sees the gun pointed at Felicity’s head, his world stops. 

He’s in that weird suspension where time moves slowly but his hearts at hyper speed. One singular thought is on repeat in his mind -- _ Felicity can’t get hurt.  _

Without thinking, he lurches forward, effectively shoving her behind him as fast as he can. 

For whatever reason, the masked man still hasn’t fired. He’s just standing there stoically, watching them with an intensity that makes Oliver’s skin crawl. 

What he wouldn’t give to have his Green Arrow suit on right now, a bow in his hand, or even a gun -- _ something  _ to defend them with. All he has at his disposal now is his fists -- and while he may be able to take this guy out sans weapon, he’d be no match for the rest of the gang’s machine guns. 

Not to mention he is really trying to convince a nosy public and stubborn FBI investigator that he is most definitely, never-in-a-million years, absolutely  _ not _ the Green Arrow and taking down a group of armed bad guys would probably not quell those rumors. 

Abruptly, a sound he’d recognize anywhere -- the sound of an arrow whizzing through the air -- cuts off his thoughts.

_Thea_. 

Oliver’s gut churns with heavy relief -- a feeling he never thought would be associated with his baby sister arriving to a gala filled with masked gunmen. 

“Put the gun down now!” she yells, voice disguised by her modulator. 

She must have slipped through one of the back entrances during the commotion, taking advantage of the power outage to get in without the gang noticing her. 

The man, his gun still aimed firmly at himself and Felicity, seems to tense slightly but makes no move to lower his gun. 

“No can do, sweetheart,” he snarls. Something about his tone sends a chill down Oliver’s spine. It’s almost… familiar? 

“You must have misheard me. I said put the gun down.  _ Now _ .” 

Oliver is torn -- a large part of him wants to launch into full Green Arrow mode, secret identity repercussions be damned, while the other needs him to stay put, to keep himself as a human barrier between Felicity and the gun pointed at her. 

He doesn’t have much of a chance to make a choice, because suddenly the electrical grid in the ballroom switches off again and the room is bathed in darkness. 

A few shots go off and he hears screams come from the crowd. His eyes are still adjusting to the sudden darkness again and he can’t make out which shadowed figure is the masked man and which is Thea. He hears grunts and groans of pain, the sounds of fists flying but can’t decipher who they’re coming from. 

It’s borderline painful, knowing there is a fight happening but being powerless to help. Even with the lights off, he’s unwilling to leave Felicity unshielded, which means listening to Thea take on the men on her own (in the dark, no less) and hoping she doesn’t get hurt. 

He feels Felicity’s trembling fingers dig into his shoulder, hard enough that he winces. He knows she’s probably trying to comfort him, to stop him from moving and giving away the secret they’ve been hiding for six years. 

He hears John’s ragged breathing beside him, and he can safely assume his friend is fighting the same urge Oliver is. The consequences would be catastrophic though, if their identities were revealed. John has a family to protect, too. 

It doesn’t make it any less tempting, though. 

Suddenly, the lights flicker back on. Oliver surveys the damage, wincing as he scan the area for Thea. 

If his eyes hadn’t already adjusted to the brightness, he would have sworn they were playing tricks on him. 

Thea is standing in the middle of the auditorium, her chest heaving with exhaustion and her hair a mess -- but otherwise unharmed. She’s standing unapologetically over the incapacitated bodies of seven -- only seven? -- men, guns strewn across the floor. 

Oliver is in awe. Sometimes he forgets what a badass his sister can be. 

Doing a quick scan of the bodies he immediately takes note of who is  _ not _ lying among them -- the masked man that had tried to kill Felicity. 

He groans. The man must have escaped during the power outage. Of course. 

Oliver rises apprehensively, lifting Felicity to her feet.  John brushes himself off and makes a beeline for one of the exit doors, muttering something under his breath that Oliver can’t make out. 

Thea must sense the tension that’s vibrating off Oliver’s body. 

“The room is clear of all threats, Mr. Mayor,” she tells him, keeping up her façade of vigilante who most definitely does _ not  _ know the mayor. 

The apprehension from the crowd seems to break and suddenly it is chaotic again. Most people take out their phones, probably calling 911 while some hug one another in shock that they survived a Star City terrorist attack. 

There are so many, at this point they should hand out free badges. 

Taking advantage of the commotion of the room, he moves closer to Thea.

“Get Felicity out of here,” he whispers. 

Felicity, still gripping his hand tightly in hers, overhears and scoffs. 

“Because  _ that  _ won’t be obvious,” she deadpans. 

“I don’t care.” 

“Oliver,” Felicity tugs on his hand, forcing him to look at her. “If the mayor’s girlfriend is the only one the vigilante’s rescue it’s going to look an awful lot like the vigilante’s have a connection to you. Which is the kind of thing we’re trying to, you know… avoid.” 

Oliver sighs agitatedly, because he knows she has a point. But  _ still _ . 

Thea makes the decision for him. “SCPD is outside. I need to move.” She tucks her quiver behind her and makes her way out the back exit, disappearing the same moment Diggle reappears. 

His friend stumbles back into the auditorium, looking like he’s seen a ghost. 

“I’ll take her back to the bunker,” Diggle says. 

Oliver gives his friend a curious look and shakes his head. “No need for the bunker. Just take her home. I’ll be right behind you.” 

“The mayor will need to make a statement about tonight to the press,” Felicity reluctantly reminds him, leaning her head dejectedly on his shoulder. She must have been having as visceral a reaction to being separated as he was. “Probably in the form of a press  _ conference _ .” 

Oliver slams his eyes shut. A press conference is the  _ last _ thing he wants to deal with right now. 

He has no plans of dealing with the press or any other mayoral duty tonight. As soon as he’s assured Felicity is safe, he’s hitting the streets and looking for the psycho who tried to hurt her. 

No one threatens Felicity’s life and gets away. Not in his city. 

“I’m taking her back to the bunker, Oliver,” Dig repeats, his brittle tone leaving no room for argument and it catches Oliver by surprise. 

“What’s going on, Dig?” 

He can’t determine whether what John’s feeling is just a adrenaline-induced surge of protectiveness towards Felicity or something Oliver should actually be concerned about. 

John won’t even meet his eyes. Instead, they’re locked with Felicity’s, something unreadable passing between them. 

He’s being left out of the loop. Something that would normally annoy him but tonight is just making his stomach do summersaults. 

Whatever their mutual understanding is rooted in, it’s not good. 

“Dig,” he growls impatiently, because if someone doesn’t tell him what’s going on right this second he may scream. Or punch someone. Or both. “What’s going--”

“I know who tried to kill Felicity,” he interrupts. His voice doesn’t give any hint of question in his voice. It's resigned acceptance. 

“It was Deadshot.”

______________________

It’s not really the fact that Deadshot was (is?) presumed dead.

Oliver has learned two things for certain since he returned from the island: nobody says _ “snap”  _ anymore (according to Thea) and dead people rarely stay dead. 

In fact, dead people are only actually dead like… 5% of the time. 

He was living proof of that. 

“I know this is a stupid question given everything we’ve been through…” Thea begins, absentmindedly rubbing an ice pack over her shoulder. 

The team had reconvened at the bunker not long after the attack, Diggle driving Felicity as Oliver bribed Quentin into manhandling all the press and derailing a press conference for tomorrow morning. It didn’t make him look great to his constituents, but tonight that was the least of Oliver’s worries. 

Curtis sits near Felicity’s workstation, having run the comms that night and evidently responsible for all the lighting changes at the gala. On a better night, Oliver might have made a quip about Curtis having a future in technical theatre. 

“But how is it even possible that Floyd Lawton’s alive? The building he was in  _ exploded _ . That’s not generally something most people survive,” Thea says. 

“I know that, Thea.  _ Believe _ me. I was there,” Diggle responds. Oliver’s relieved to see that the glazed over expression is no longer in John’s eyes, although now it’s been replaced by a resigned sense of disbelief and a dash of what Oliver is all too familiar with -- guilt. What John feels guilty over, he has no idea. 

He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. Just once he’d like to go a week  _ without _ someone coming back from the dead. Was that too much to ask? 

“How is this possible?” Oliver is thinking out loud. He knows there are a million ways for this to be possible. At this point, asking for logical explanations to their lives really is a pipe dream. But he has to still believe logic exists or else he might go crazy. “He’s been dead for two years.” 

“Allegedly,” Felicity mutters, staring at the floor. 

“What are you thinking, hon?” 

“Anyone else getting Flashpoint-y vibes from this?” Felicity fidgets slightly in her chair. 

He knows this is an idea she must have had stewing for awhile, because she only gets fidgety when she’s convinced of something but nervous about what other people will think. 

“I mean, dead people. Coming back to life. Generally that only happens on one of two occasions: they were never really dead to begin with or Barry did some weird timey-wimey stuff... or the Lazarus Pit resurrected them,” Felicity amends, gesturing to Thea apologetically. “Huh. I guess there’s three ways.”

“It’s not totally outside the realm of possibility,” Dig admits, arms folded across his chest. Oliver knows the kind of man Diggle is. His life prior to Team Arrow had been rooted in logic and sensibility, so joining the team and learning about the magical and mystical parts of the world -- plus… time travel -- had to have been mind-blowing. He can’t imagine what he’s thinking right now. 

Thea presses the ice pack harder into her shoulder, standing to join them. “But why target _ Felicity _ ? What’s to gain from that? She’s not really a controversial figure.” 

“I guess his first impression of me was so bad he had to bring himself back from the dead to kill me,” Felicity shrugs, a forced laugh coming from her lips. “I know my babbling tends to turn people off, but that’s a first.” 

Oliver frowns, shaking his head. He knows she’s trying to lighten the mood to make him feel better but it’s not working. Her safety isn’t something he can joke about. 

“And we’re absolutely  _ certain _ he’s after Felicity, right?” Curtis interjects. “I mean, there’s no chance this is a coincidental thing and Felicity just happens to…” he trails off when he sees Oliver’s blank stare and Felicity’s sympathetic one, silently urging him to stop. Curtis hasn't been on their team long enough to learn nothing is ever simply coincidence.

“This is no coincidence, Curtis,” Dig says. 

And although Oliver had been there and seen the whole thing with his eyes not even an hour ago, it stills sends a shiver up his spine. In an alternate universe where they weren’t so lucky, he doesn’t want to imagine what could have happened to Felicity.

“Not to mention there was Palmer Tech this morning...” Felicity adds meekly, keeping her eyes trained on the floor. 

Oliver turns to her, confusion written on his face. 

“You think Palmer Tech was related? You told us it was no more than an attack on the company." 

“I did, at first…”

“What does that mean?” 

She expels a nervous breath before locking eyes with Oliver. Oh, he knows that face. It's her guilty face. 

“Curtis… he… he might have told me there was a target on my forehead this morning at Palmer Tech. Like, whoever was shooting at us was aiming directly _ for  _ me. I didn’t want to think too much about it, because you never know with these things. It could have very easily been just an attack on Palmer Tech’s name and not me specifically but…” 

Oliver’s stands there, shocked, mouth opening and closing. He can’t decide whether he’s more angry or hurt that she didn’t tell him. 

“There was an actual  _ target  _ on your head? They were aiming solely for you?” 

Okay, evidently he is settling on angry. It comes more naturally to him, anyway. 

She doesn’t answer him and suddenly Oliver sees red. Doesn’t she know how reckless of a decision that was? Not only did he deserve to know, if he had known, he could have done something to _protect_ her. 

“Why didn’t you tell me that, Felicity?!” 

“Because of that face!” she exclaims, gesturing to him. “The face - that… there! The angry face! I didn’t want to make you upset without any reason to. For all I knew this morning, it  _ was  _ a random attack.” 

She’s on the defensive now and Oliver doesn’t want to fight, he really doesn’t, especially not with Felicity when the stakes are so high.

But they are not done with this conversation. Not by a long shot.

Dig intervenes. “Well, whatever or _ however _ , it seems like Lawton’s back and not for a good reason.” 

“But how would no one notice that there’s been a  _ dead man _ walking around Star City for two years?” Curtis asks, bewildered. He’s clearly a fan of logical explanations, too. He’s joined the wrong vigilante team if that’s what he’s hoping for. 

“He’s not a zombie, Curtis,” Oliver sighs, eyes closing in exasperation.  

“Tell that to my Walking Dead theory.” Curtis can’t even help laughing at his own joke, that poor puppy, and Oliver can’t help glaring at him, because his timing is awful. Felicity has already gotten onto Oliver several times about dealing with Curtis’ sunshiney optimism the same way he had responded to hers, so as not to scare off their newest recruit. 

(Oliver had responded with a cocky smirk and said he can’t just shut Curtis up with a kiss every time  _ he _ babbles. Felicity had winked and said she’s sure Curtis would love it if he tried. Oliver didn’t respond to that.) 

“Maybe he wasn’t  _ in _ Star City,” Felicity speculates. “Dig, is it possible Argus had any contact with Lawton or were aware of his whereabouts during the past two years?”

“It’s possible. Lyla and I reported his death after our mission in Republic of Kasnia but I wouldn’t put anything past Amanda Waller.” Dig glances at his watch and sighs before turning to Oliver. “It’s late. I’ll go home, talk to Lyla and see what she can dig up in Argus files. Reconvene tomorrow?” 

“Yes, John. Thank you,” Oliver says, giving John a quick pat on the shoulder as he walks past him.

“Give Sara a kiss for me,” Felicity calls after him before refocusing her attention on her computers. “I’ll do some hacking tonight. See if I can find anything suspicious in Republic of Kasnia the days after Lawton’s death to see where he might have wound up.” 

“I’m gonna go home and pass out,” Thea sets the ice pack down and rolls her shoulders. “I forgot how much taking down armed gang members really zaps your energy.” 

“You did good tonight, Speedy,” Oliver tells her kindly, placing a quick kiss to her forehead. “Get some rest and we’ll see you in the morning.” 

She pulls her head back from his peck and gives him a dry smile. He feels like he won’t like what she’s about to say. 

“Well, I’ll see  _ Felicity _ in the morning. But you, my dear mayor, will be holding a press conference tomorrow morning at 9 am outside City Hall to address the hostage situation we dealt with tonight.” 

He was right. He didn’t like it. 

“I gave Quentin the reigns on that,” he responds indignantly, like a man who knows this is an argument he’s already lost. 

_ “Quentin _ is Deputy Mayor. The press is expecting a statement from you considering you were, you know, _ there _ . And I will make sure you’re up and at ‘em by 9 am  _ sharp _ .” She tosses a conspiratorial look at Felicity which his girlfriend returns. Traitor. 

Curtis moves next. “I need to get going, too. Call me if you have any leads, Felicity.” 

“I will. Night, Curtis.” 

The elevator doors shut behind Curtis and Thea and he’s alone with Felicity again. It’s hard to believe he hasn’t been since that morning. It seems like an entire year has passed since they’d showered together before work, Felicity teasing him as he massaged her conditioner in about what dress she was going to torture him with that night. He’d groaned, already imaging their night together. He’d thought the biggest issue he’d have that day would be trying to keep his hands off Felicity until they got home. 

He wants to laugh at the naivety of that. Since when had his life ever been so uncomplicated? Why would he get to all of a sudden have nice things? 

He feels the exhaustion creeping in as he rifles a hand through his hair. He swears it’s become more bespeckled with  gray ever since he landed in the mayor’s office, and days like today certainly don’t help. He’s never been much for vanity since the island, but he hates the salt and pepper look he is beginning to sport. It reminds him of how fleeting his time is, how the days of him being Green Arrow are numbered and he may have to hang up the hood because of something as ordinary as  _ aging _ .

Felicity tells him she doesn’t mind the gray. She thinks it’s sexy. 

As if reading his mind, Felicity’s voice interrupts him. “Would it make you feel better if I told you you're  _ really _ wearing the hell out of that suit?” 

He chokes out a laugh, exasperation and fear and  _ so much _ love pouring out of him all at once. How can she make him laugh so easily when he feels like his world feels like it’s upside down? 

Her words catch up with him and it dawns on him he is still wearing the suit from the gala -- albeit  much more wrinkled than during the evening and there is a tear on the right sleeve that will need to be sewn, but he doesn’t care. 

Because at the same moment, he realizes she is still in her dress. 

He takes a moment to gaze at her. The emerald green color against her creamy skin had driven him crazy earlier, filling him with hunger, and it shocks him now how different he feels towards the dress. 

That could have been the dress he watched Felicity die in tonight. 

Suddenly, she looks beautiful and perfect for a whole different reason. 

He stands behind her chair, resting his hands on her bare shoulders and she arches her neck, humming softly. It’s her way of silently asking for a him to knead her shoulders after a long day of typing and he obliges. 

“You should have told me about what happened at Palmer Tech.” 

It’s still a little scary to him - calling her out when she’s done something that hurt him. When they’d been together before, he’d been too nervous to say anything that bothered him in their relationship. He’d kept it inside, bottled up, not because he was scared of Felicity but because he was scared of losing her. 

When it came down to it, the disintegration of their relationship had been rooted in fear. Fear had led him to keep William a secret too long, afraid he’d lose her for good (ironically, he had, just for reasons he hadn’t thought of) and fear that if she saw all the parts of himself that scared him, she’d fear him, too.

But to his surprise, when he’d exposed the most vulnerable parts of himself to Felicity, she hadn’t ran. She hadn’t even blinked. She’d just pulled him closer to her, accepting him for everything he is. 

He didn’t know he could love her more than he did before, during those blissful months in Ivy Town and that short time in Star City where everything was perfect, but he did. 

If life with Felicity had taught him anything, it’s that she’s full of surprises. 

Felicity sighs, entwining their hands. “I know. I’m sorry. I just didn’t want to give you a reason to worry if I didn’t know for sure there was one.” 

He smiles in spite of himself. Her reasoning is backwards, but in selfless, loving way that’s typical of Felicity. 

“I’m always going to worry about you. It’s hard-wired into my DNA.” 

“Well, I know  _ that _ . It’s practically your superpower at this point.” 

He gazes down at her, smiling softly. And if he’s a little happy the team is already gone, who can blame him? If Thea were here she’d just make some smartass comment about him having hearts for eyes, or whatever the saying was. 

“I guess that’s better than Guilt Arrow.”

“Barely.” 

Oliver chuckles quietly as he watches her stifle a yawn. “We should get some sleep.”

She spins in her chair. “What? Like… here?”

“Seems as good a place as any.” She quirks an eyebrow. “And a place Lawton won’t be able to locate.” 

“There it is,” she says quietly, giving him a knowing smile. She doesn’t argue his proposition though, and he’s thankful. 

She stands up, wrapping her arms around his neck, moaning softly at the stretch. “You’re the cutest person in the world, Oliver Queen.” She peppers his face with a few pecks before reluctantly letting go. 

“I’ll take cute over grumpy.” She rolls her eyes but the grin doesn’t leave her face. “I’ll get the bed ready,” Oliver tells her as she makes her way to the bathroom to change into the spare pair of clothes she keeps in the bunker. 

Felicity had recently taken it upon herself to update their living quarters for “overnight emergencies” (which everyone knew was basically code for sex but decided to let her have anyway) and had had two twin beds installed as well as a queen bed (she had literally no excuse for this one but glared at anyone who tried to tease her about it) and a few extra lockers for the team to store extra clothes. 

She’d had a mini fridge installed too, but Oliver was pretty certain that was just so she could snack during their missions. 

He turns down the sheets for them and changes out of his suit, content to trade in his formal attire for some loose fitting sweat pants and a T-shirt. He maneuvers the pillows so there’s a few lining the opposite side of the bed, her side, since he knows she will sometimes get back pain from sitting at her computer all day and having the soft pillows against her spine helps. 

A few minutes later, Felicity emerges from the bathroom with her glasses off and her hair in messy bun, sporting her sleep-shorts with the penguins on them (Oliver’s lost count of how many animal-related pairs of pajamas she owns) and one of his old training shirts. 

He loves her in any form and would probably find her sexy wearing a trash bag, but seeing her in one of his shirts kills him every time. When he tells her that, Felicity snorts and rolls her eyes calling it the typical male fantasy but Oliver swears it’s more than that. 

He loves every version of Felicity Smoak, anytime of the day -- b ut the drowsy, sleep-deprived night  version and the disoriented, grumpy morning one that not many get to see always makes his heart skip a beat. 

_ He _ gets to see her like this every day. If that doesn’t make him lucky, he doesn’t know what does. 

She slides into bed next to him, watching him carefully as she pulls the covers over them.  

“You’re thinking too loud.” 

She winks at him from where she lays on her pillow, wiggling her toes against his calves to warm them up. 

“Sorry,” he grins bashfully, sinking down from against the headrest to mirror her on the bed. “It’s been a crazy day.” 

“Hmm… two attempted attacks, an apparent resurrection, a boring charity event in which you _ torture _ me by wearing suspenders… Actually sounds like a pretty typical day for us.”

He chuckles at that, strained but genuine. He can’t quite let himself relax yet, not with the idea of a (formerly) dead assassin targeting her still on his mind. 

Because, sure, as much as it pains him to admit it, her life is arguably at stake everyday just because she’s a part of Team Arrow. But something about this… it’s more than that. This time it’s deliberate. It’s someone trying to hurt  _ her _ , not Team Arrow. 

They may have put a name to the face, but there are a lot of unknown variables in this equation and it’s driving Oliver crazy. 

For all the evil Oliver has known in his years on the island and back, the unknown is still what terrifies him the most. 

“That may be true… But I still can’t get used to the idea of someone putting a hit out on you.”  

“I’m not crazy about the idea either. But all we can do now is wait and see what Dig finds out from Argus  and see if it helps us.” 

She lifts her hand to caress his cheek,  rubbing his beard in soft circles the way he likes. 

“I hate waiting and seeing. Especially when it comes to you.” 

She gives him a sheepish smile, tentatively rubbing her thumb against his bottom lip. “I know, sweetheart. Believe me, I know. Waiting sucks.”

She continues to caress his cheek absentmindedly, but her thoughts are clearly elsewhere. A flicker of something that looks  like pain crosses her face, but when she meets his eyes, it’s gone. 

“Hey… what are you thinking?”

She pauses. A few moments go by and he almost thinks she won’t answer him until she wets her lips and gives him a weak smile. 

“I have to wait all the time, you know.” 

He shakes his head, his hand coming to rest on the small of her back. 

“I have to wait when I listen over the comms every night. I have to wait to see if you’re alive almost every night.” 

He sucks in a sharp breath at that, because he knows --  god, he knows -- that the uncertainty of their lives can be hard, unbearable even, but he’s never thought of it that way. He admires Felicity so much, but he doesn’t envy her having to listen to him fight for his life nearly every night. If they’re roles were reversed, he knows he couldn’t stomach it. 

“I know,” he whispers. “But I do come home to you. Every night. You don’t have to wait for long.” 

She lets out choked laugh at that. “Really? I don’t? Because some nights it feels like an eternity.” 

He doesn’t know what to say to that. Because things  _ are _ uncertain and he can’t promise her he’ll live forever --  they  _ both _ know that. But it doesn’t make it any easier.

“Well, you’re a much stronger person than I am,” he tells her, the one thing he  _ is  _ certain about. “The strongest.” 

He expects her to chuckle or roll her eyes, like she normally does when he gives her a compliment she doesn’t know how to accept, but instead she just stares at him searchingly. 

“Nobody’s strong enough for that,” she says. “Nobody’s strong enough to lose the love of their life.” 

Something he can’t identify drops like a weight to the pit of his stomach. He doesn’t know if her confession makes him want to smile or cry. 

Sure, he knew he was the love of Felicity’s life (or, at least, he’d  _ hoped _ ), but something about the earnestness in her voice, the rawness of her words makes him feel unsteady. 

He could live a thousand years with Felicity Smoak and she would still find ways to turn him inside out. 

Felicity’s always been the one with the words --  words of encouragement she gives him when he needs to be picked up, words to get him to safety when he’s out in the field, words of love she’s vowed to him when they’re tangled together in bed, words he didn’t want to hear but had needed to. 

He is who he is today, largely, because of her words. 

Felicity’s always been good with her words, yes. But Oliver --  he’s always been a man of action. 

In the end, he responds by pressing his lips firmly to hers. S he gives a little breathy moan of surprise --  she almost always does that, like she’s surprised he’s kissing her, and he hopes she never stops -- before responding eagerly. 

He moves his hand under her shirt to feel her skin, soaking in the goosebumps his touch elicits. He rubs her back soothingly, lingering on the scars, before bringing his hand to her hip and gently pushing her to lay on her back. 

Her fingers are tangled in his hair now, gently massaging his scalp in the way that makes his entire being ache for her. 

He rests his body on top of her more fully, moving his lips down her neck, making her gasp, before kissing his way back to her lips. 

He takes a moment -- a very brief moment --  and just breathes her in. Her eyes are closed, her lips swollen, her breath ghosting over his face. When he doesn’t immediately replant his lips on hers, she opens her eyes questioningly. 

“I love you, Felicity,” he answers. And that’s it. It’s the only answer he can really give her. He hopes it’s enough. “I love you so much.” 

Oliver’s not a poet or a wordsmith, and he probably will never be able to adequately express how he feels, but he swears the sunshine would feel intimidated if it saw the smile she gave him in return. 

She is pure, unadulterated sunshine and he is basking in the glow of it everyday. 

She hums, or moans, he can’t really tell the difference and he doesn’t really care. 

“Mmm… prove it.” 

So he does. 

\----------------------

_ Star City, 2025  _

A car drives past the flickering street light, the only illumination on the entire block as Floyd enters the alleyway. He has a gun carefully tucked away in his back pocket, just in case things go south or this entire thing is a trap. It’s almost for nothing, though. He knows if it really were a set-up, Floyd wouldn’t even have the chance to reach for it before he was taken down. 

He doesn’t know why he brought it. Force of habit, maybe? 

There had been something eerie about the anonymous message he’d received a few days ago, an automated voice recording left in his apartment in what used to be the Glades, asking him to meet in person in a nearly-deserted area of what was once Star City’s nicest park. 

He’d scoffed at that, almost throwing the tape out the window of his apartment before hearing who exactly they wanted targeted -- were they serious? Or delusional? Was this some sort of sick joke? 

Floyd didn’t do much with his time these days, but he didn’t take too kindly to having his time wasted with ridiculous requests. He might not be much of anything anymore, but at one point in his life Floyd was a damn good assassin. At least have a little respect. 

But for some unfathomable reason, Floyd had decided to show up that night. Maybe it was boredom. Maybe Floyd really _did_ have a death wish.

Or maybe he knew, deep down in the pit of his stomach, that their request had been no mistake. 

He arrives at their designated meeting place -- a dark alley not far from what used to be the mayor’s office. He finds it a little ironic, that of _ all _ the places, they chose to meet here. He wonders if it was intentional. 

His old assassin tendencies must be hardwired into him somehow, because as soon as he enters the alley he knows he’s not alone. 

He doesn’t see anyone, but he can  _ feel _ it. Call it an assassin’s intuition. He reaches for his gun. 

_ “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”  _

The deep voice echoes from the shadows and Floyd tries not to let his surprise show. He’s trying to play his cards close to his chest, find out if this guy is for real or not before revealing anything about himself. 

“I don’t take too kindly to being mocked,” Floyd says, hand still hovering over his gun. 

“Neither do I.” A familiar sound whizzes past him and he hears a thud hit the ground. “Deadshot,” the gravelly voice continues. “Did you receive my message?” 

With that, the person emerges from the shadows, not close enough for him to see their face but enough to see the outline of their figure. Apparently this is all the introduction he’ll be getting. 

Well, that’s just fine. Floyd’s not here to make friends. 

He decides to cut to the chase. “You mean the one about killing the famous Felicity Queen? Yeah, I got it.” 

He watches the figure carefully, hoping that the ludicrousness  of the request will give him some sort of tell as to what this person’s game is. But all he gets is a sharp intake of breath at the mention of her name.  

“And if this is really who you want me to pull the trigger on, then you already know we have a whole other list of problems, buddy.” 

The figure is still and silent, so much so that Floyd wonders if he needs to repeat himself. They must know the absurdity of their request, don’t they? Floyd hasn’t been an assassin-for-hire in years, but even if he had been, this wouldn’t have been a simple job for him --  or anyone. 

There’s nothing simple or clean about this assignment. The stakes would be higher than ever before. 

They clear their throat, but if it’s possibly their voice comes out even raspier than before. 

“I know what I’m asking. I know the stakes.  _ Believe me. _ What I’m asking is if you’re capable of doing it.” 

Floyd watches him. That’s not really what the man is asking him, is it? This job isn’t a simple, pop-one and run operation, they both know that. His question is confusing but his subtext is  clear: is Floyd  _ willing _ to do it? 

Floyd nods, studying the man more carefully. When he notices a particular twitch of nervousness, he laughs. 

He’s laughing, out loud, and suddenly he can’t stop. Not because any of this is funny in the slightest --  the city he once called home is practically a wasteland, his family is gone, he has so little to live for he agreed to meet a clearly deranged individual in a dark alley in the middle of the night out of... what?  Curiosity? Entertainment? A sick hope maybe it’d be his last mission ever? 

Actually, things are as unfunny as they ever have been. 

No, he’s laughing, in spite of everything, because in that moment he doesn’t need the figure to emerge from the concealment of the darkness to know exactly who he just made a deal with. It is so glaringly obvious and so tragically poetic given everything that’s happened that he can’t believe he didn’t put the pieces together sooner. 

But to be fair… Floyd never claimed to have impeccable instincts. 

But he does have impeccable aim. 


	4. Chapter 4

When Felicity awakens, she notices two things. 

One, she is alone in the bed of the bunker. Two, she smells bacon. 

The first doesn’t surprise her, since Oliver left about an hour ago for his early morning press conference but the latter does. She doesn’t remember buying bacon for the bunker. Or a grill, for that matter. 

She throws back the covers, hurriedly putting on her glasses and her sleep shorts from last night that kept _ mysteriously _ disappearing every time Oliver would wake her up (three times total). 

When she emerges from the living quarters she sees Thea, sitting cross-legged by her computers, gingerly chewing on a piece of bacon that is clearly take-out from the bistro down the street. When she sees Felicity, she sets it down and smiles. 

“Good morning sunshine! I brought you breakfast and coffee.” 

That’s right. She almost forgot. Thea is a morning person, too.

Felicity thinks she murmurs thanks to her but that might have been in her head and she beelines it for the coffee. Apparently being targeted by a previously-dead assassin really provokes her caffeine addiction. 

She takes a few sips and considers her almost-sister. “Did Oliver force you into babysitting me?”

“Oliver did not _ force  _ anything. He might have politely requested that I go get his girlfriend something to eat so she could sleep in-”

“And so I wouldn’t have to leave the bunker all day.” 

“That may or may not have played a significant role in his suggestion, sure. But it’s not anything I wouldn’t do anyway so I could spend time with my favorite girl,” Thea supplies, sipping her latte. 

“Such a diplomatic and vague answer. Moira would be proud,” Felicity teases, taking a bite of her food. For as much as she hates being coddled, she can’t fault Thea for any of it, especially if she got free breakfast out of the deal. But if this continued much longer… yeah, she and Oliver would be sharing words. 

“I appreciate the company, Thea, I really do, but you don’t need to babysit me. I’m a grown woman.” 

“I am aware of that. But I wouldn’t be fulfilling my duty of best sister-in-law in the world if I didn’t stay, just in case.” 

Felicity rolls her eyes, smiling in spite of herself. “Oliver and I aren’t married, Thea.” 

Thea purses her lips, considering that. “Not  _ yet.  _ But what’s a piece of paper and a white dress really going to change about you and my brother? You argue like an old married couple already.” 

Felicity’s grin widens, because yeah, she and Oliver aren’t married yet and they had agreed to take things slow last summer after reconciling, with William being a new factor in their lives, but that didn’t mean marriage couldn’t happen one day. She wants to take things slow (well, slower) than last time, mend any cracks in their foundation before they have the chance to cement. But she can’t deny the idea of herself in a beautiful white dress and Oliver’s eyes as he watches her walk down the aisle makes her heart flutter.

Maybe it’s the insecure little girl inside her that never thought she’d find anyone to love her enough to want her everyday or maybe it’s the disabled woman with her own insecurities that feared she would never be able to walk to the man she loved -- either way, she knows she wants that with him one day. 

And if that one day came sooner rather than later… well... she supposes she could make peace with that. 

Felicity never thought of herself as a ‘settle down and marry’ kind of woman. And in a lot of ways, she still isn’t. The white picket fence in the suburbs with back-to-back PTA meetings still doesn’t hold much appeal to her, but sharing a life and a family with Oliver sounds better and better with each passing day -- especially when they spend them with William. 

When William had come into their lives for the second time -- an accident both times, but a happy one nonetheless -- she’d been pleasantly anxious. She and Oliver were still working on defining their relationship and what ‘slow’ meant to them after the trauma that was Lian Yu, while Oliver was trying to adapt to having an impressionable 12 year old in his crazy life. Samantha had helped, admittedly, when she decided to relocate permanently to Star City so William could have the chance to get to know his father. 

She’d be lying if she said there wasn’t a part of her that sat on edge the first time William had visited, sitting cross-legged on her couch as Samantha and Oliver discussed the logistics of his visit and they were forced to sit in silence. 

She didn’t know what her role was to him, exactly. Saying she was his father’s ex-fiance and sort-of girlfriend was too much of a mouthful, but saying ‘friend’ wasn’t exactly right either. She wasn’t his aunt, and she  _ definitely _ wasn’t his step-mom, so what was she exactly?

She’d been internally debating how to introduce herself -- should she shake his hand? Did kids shake hands? Should they fist bump? Would that be weird? -- when William had shyly cleared his throat and done the hard part for her. 

_ “You’re Felicity, right?” _

_ She’d sat up straighter, adjusting her glasses as if he was a job interviewer sizing her up and not a curious 12 year old. “Yeah, I am. It’s nice to meet you William…. Wait, how do you know my name?”  _

_ “Oliver used to talk about you sometimes. When he would come to visit me when we lived in Central City,” the boy explained, as if that made total sense and didn’t completely upheave everything she’d thought.  _

_ “Oliver talked about me? To you? I didn’t know that.”  _

_ “He would show me pictures on his phone sometimes. Sometimes he let me use it to play games.”  _

_ Felicity’s heart swelled  - both at Oliver’s sweet gesture and at the fact that he undoubtedly downloaded games on his phone just so William could play. He’d been father material, always.  _

_ “Well, I’m glad I’m finally getting a chance to meet you. Oliv- I mean, your dad talked a lot about you to me, too.”  _

_ William’s feet start to kick back and forth as he sits on the couch when she says that, and Felicity wonders if that’s a nervous tick of his. She wonders if those physical tells is something he inherited from Oliver. _

_ Her statement is partially true -- sure, Oliver hadn’t talked to her about William when it really mattered, but he’d made up for lost time since they returned from the island, revealing in the quiet moments they shared his favorite parts of his son that he’d learned, and the parts he hoped to.  _

_ “Oh. Cool.” William bends his head and avoids eye contact, clearly trying to not let on how much he needed to hear that. Felicity wants to laugh because it’s such a very Oliver way of handling emotions and he has no idea.  _

_ “Are you and Oliver married?” he asks suddenly, looking up.  _

_ The change of topic gives her whiplash, a few incoherent words tumbling out of her mouth at speeds even Barry would be impressed with. _

_ “Because when my dad used to visit he’d say you guys were engaged. But now you don’t have a ring on.”  _

_ She looked down at her ring finger, wishing there was something on it so she could fiddle with it as she thought about her answer. Because she knew what she and Oliver were and why they hadn’t married, but how exactly could she explain that to William? _

_ “Well…” She turned back to Oliver, desperate for any kind of reprieve, but he was still in a seemingly serious conversation with Samantha. What she wouldn’t give for a sudden Arrow-related emergency right then. “It was complicated.”  _

_ “How?” _

_ “It just… wasn’t our time yet.” _

_ “So you and my dad aren’t together?” _

_ “Well, no… I mean yes.”  _

_ William just stared at her, brows furrowed. If Felicity’s stomach wasn’t doing somersaults, she’d think it was cute how similar it was to Oliver’s confused puppy face.  _

_ “Why is it so complicated? Either you’re boyfriend and girlfriend or you aren’t.”  _

_ She smiled at his bluntness -- that was definitely a Thea-inherited trait. _

_ “You’re right. It’s not complicated… well, at least not very. I love Oliver and he loves me. We aren’t married or getting married anytime soon but we are very important to each other. We’re…” Felicity stops, trying to think of the right word. ‘Lovers’ wasn’t something she was going to say in front of a twelve year old, ‘exclusive’ sounded like what Oliver would say at a press conference and just ‘dating’ wasn’t honest enough either.  _

_ William was a good kid who had been lied to most of his life. Felicity knew a little bit about that, and she wasn’t going to continue the pattern. She couldn’t promise William she’d be a good… whatever… to him, but at least she’d always be honest. _

_ “Partners?”  _

_ Felicity paused, looking at him. “What was that?” _

_ William shrugged, as if it was the simplest explanation in the world. “That’s what my dad said when he came to visit. He said you guys were partners.”  _

_ Felicity can’t decide if she wants to laugh or cry at that -- at how simply a little boy solved her label problem in just a few minutes or how Oliver had clearly already involved her more in his relationship with William than she could’ve ever hoped.  _

_ Felicity smiles gratefully, because if this boy is anything like his father, getting to know him and love him will be the simplest thing of all. Why had she ever been worried?  _

_ “Yeah. We’re partners.”  _

That day had been almost three months ago, and while finding a delicate balance between Oliver, Samantha and herself hadn’t been easy, they’d made it work for William’s sake. Felicity didn’t know what kind of mother she’d be -- or when she’d ever be one -- but having William in their lives definitely made her more anticipatory for what lay ahead. 

These days, William spends a few nights a week at their apartment. Oliver normally does the cooking, Felicity too busy listening intently while William animatedly talks about the new baseball glove Oliver bought him that week or how he is trying to convince his mom to let him get a dog. 

It isn’t a perfect situation, not at all. Williams still wakes up screaming from nightmares about his time on Lian Yu and Oliver still feels the whiplash of guilt on those bad nights. But they’re together. And as Felicity reminds him constantly, as long as he’s in William’s life now, he’s doing right by him.

The ding of the elevator brings Felicity out of her thoughts. 

Oliver strides in, loosening his tie as he walks over to where she and Thea sit by her computers. 

“Hi, honey,” he greets, pecking her on the lips. She’d really like a deeper kiss if he was offering, but his sister is two feet away and probably wouldn’t appreciate that. 

“How’d the press conference go?”

“Boring. And long. Like a typical press conference.” He smiles good naturedly but she can tell by the bags under his eyes he didn’t sleep well last night. Which she may or may not be partially to blame for. And she may or may not feel a tad smug about it.

“John called and said he and Lyla were going to find someone to watch Sara and then they’d come by to help us look into this Deadshot issue,” Thea informs them. 

“Right. This coffee almost made me forget about that zombie assassin trying to kill me,” Felicity frowns, taking a sip of her coffee, wishing it was stronger. Or alcoholic. 

“We won’t let him touch you.” 

The edge in Oliver’s tone sends a chill down her spine and she tilts her head up to meet his eyes, giving him a reassuring smile. 

As if on cue, the familiar ping of the elevator sounds and John and Lyla walk in, looking as tired as Felicity feels.

Oliver wastes no time with pleasantries, cutting right to the chase. “John, I just have to ask for argument’s sake… are we 100% certain this is Deadshot and not a copycat sniper?”

“I mean, it wouldn’t hurt to rule out all our living potential suspects before we start focusing on the unliving,” Felicity adds. Just another day and another sentence she never thought she’d say. 

“We’re not focusing on the unliving; Lawton’s alive. Argus has had eyes on him for the past two years,” Lyla announces. 

Everyone’s eyes snap to Lyla. It’s not the craziest thing Felicity’s ever heard, and definitely not unbelievable given the type of person Amanda Waller had been or how far she would go to keep her secrets. But still, it leaves a bitter taste in Felicity’s mouth for Lyla, at the secret’s she must keep, secrets that could have possibly helped keep the city safer had they known sooner. 

If it’s making  _ her  _ feel this uncomfortable, she can’t imagine how John feels.

Oliver turns to Dig, frowning. “Did you know?” 

“Only since this morning.” 

He doesn’t meet Oliver’s eyes, instead keeping them focused on his wife. His arms are crossed but he’s almost smirking and Felicity figures he’s come to accept the fact that secrets are a part of his wife’s job description. 

Lyla meets his gaze unapologetically. Although she can’t say she agrees with a lot of the decisions Lyla has made in the past, she definitely respects her role of unrepentant badass. 

Felicity sits and turns on her computers, waiting for her babies to warm up. 

“So if Lawton’s somehow miraculously survived a building exploding with him inside, we can pretty much assume he’s been good at avoiding detection these past two years, correct?” 

Lyla nods. “Our team has security camera footage of him in various places throughout Eastern Europe over the past two years. He was last spotted in Moscow less than two days ago.”

“Two days ago?” Felicity asks. “That seems… off.” 

Oliver’s face scrunches up in confusion. “That’s not enough time. A flight from Moscow to Star City is about 14 hours, give or take. Now, we can assume he didn’t fly commercial but him being the shooter from two nights ago and also the one who attacked Felicity at Palmer Tech is being generous, at best.” 

“Generous, but not impossible, Oliver,” Dig counters. 

Oliver nods begrudgingly, but Felicity can tell by his clenched jaw and sharp intakes of breath he’s having trouble reigning in his temper right now. Oliver doesn’t deal well with theoreticals; he wants precise answers and facts. 

“Sure, after everything we’ve seen nothing is outside of the realm of possibility John, but I’m talking about what is likely. I’m not going to spend all the team’s time and effort locating a man who, up until Lyla clued us in 5 minutes ago, was presumed dead. Lives are on the line here and I don’t feel comfortable risking them on a hunch.” 

“Okay, let’s just take a breath and think here,” Felicity says, grabbing Oliver’s arm from where she’s sitting. “So if it’s not Deadshot… who is it? What other lead do we have to go off?” 

Oliver’s fierceness wavers, the fight leaving him as he considers this. Her heart is aching for him, because she knows how deep the fear of losing his loved ones is rooted inside him -- Lian Yu exploding was barely six months ago -- and how it physically pains him to have a situation like this out of his control. It’s times like these where, as little as a year ago, Oliver would have initially reacted by drawing away from her or by finding a way to blame himself.

But not anymore. If anything, so far he’s pulled her _ closer  _ and that only makes her heart swell with pride. 

“Until we have a better lead, we may need to stick with our Deadshot theory, honey.” 

“I can have Argus look further into Lawton, see who he’s been dealing with lately and why he might have ended up back in Star City. In the meantime I’ll give you the files we have so far,” Lyla offers. 

“Are you sure, Lyla? I know you’re the leader of Argus now but… can’t you get in trouble for sharing critical information with, well -- for lack of a better word -- civilians? Not to mention civilians that include your  _ husband _ .” 

“I’m sure, Felicity. The information is classified, sure, but Amanda Waller did far worse for less and helping out a friend in danger is more than enough reason for me to take a scolding, if need be.” 

This is probably the closest to a peace offering the team -- or Felicity herself -- will get after the Helix and Cayden James fiasco earlier this year. She appreciates the gesture for what it is and gives Lyla a grateful nod. 

“Felicity can run her searches also, see what else we can dig up,” Oliver interjects. “In the meantime, I want the team to hit the streets tonight to see if we can catch any leads that way. Thea, will you call Rene and ask him to suit up with us? John, call Dinah please.” Oliver turns abruptly, leaving no room for discussion. 

“Rene’s taking time off from the team to spend time with his daughter, remember?” Thea chimes in. “And besides, he’s not even in town right now.” 

Oliver closes his eyes, pressing his fingers into his temples. “Okay, fine. Rene has a pass. Dig, what about Dinah?” 

Dig walks up to Oliver and clasps a hand on his shoulder in solidarity. “A no-go as well. Academy training all week.” 

“Dammit.” 

“We’ll be fine, man. The three of us on the streets is plenty. Floyd’s smart but he’s not Felicity-smart. We’ll find him.” 

Felicity blushes, taking Dig’s words to heart and letting them comfort her. Despite being a part of Team Arrow where deadly threats are a given, having an assassin targeting her specifically scares her  -- she needs a moment to breathe and realize they  _ can _ beat him. 

“Until then, Felicity, I want you to stay in the bunker.” Oliver’s blue eyes are soft, pleading -- damn. Her one Achilles heel. “Please.” 

“Fine,” she agrees begrudgingly, “but only until we have a lead on Lawton. I can’t stay down here forever, Oliver.” 

“I won’t ask you to. Thank you.” He says, leaning down to press his lips against hers. “I appreciate it.” 

Thea shuffles awkwardly, frowning at her brother. “So… what? In the meantime we just… wait here?” 

Felicity frowns and looks at the clock. 

1:10 pm. 

So… they have a little time to kill before the team can really hit the streets effectively, given it’s broad daylight. Time is a funny thing when you’re a vigilante; you either have too much of it or not enough. 

Felicity considers her team, a group of her closest friends who are willing to risk their lives to save hers. It’s noble, heroic -- and leaves her feeling useless that there’s not much she can do to help. 

She takes a breath, bracing herself for an argument. “Oliver…” 

He turns to her, a sweet, unassuming smile on his lips. She memorizes his smile. Lord only knows the next time she’ll see it on his face. 

“Listen, I know you’re not going to be a fan of this and as soon as I say it your face is going to do that angry pointy thing-” 

“Felicity?”

“Just hear me out. Sometimes the best way to catch a bear is with bait. We don't have any leads on Deadshot right now, so the team hitting the streets with basically nothing to go on doesn’t make sense, right? We’re not going to catch Deadshot or  _ anyone _ with me underground like this. We need to-”

“No.” 

“Oliver-”

“ _ No _ , Felicity.” 

Felicity bristles. The least he could do is  _ hear her out _ \- even if she knows he’ll hate this idea. 

“Oliver. I know this isn’t an ideal plan, or even a great one but our options are limited here. What is you and the team hitting the streets with little to nothing to go on going to accomplish besides wasting time we don’t have?” She waits as he tries to formulate an answer, mouth opening and closing with reasons he doesn’t have. 

“If I show my face in public, tease this guy a little bit--” -- ahh, poor phrasing -- “maybe he’ll fall right into our lap and then we can put him away for good.” 

Oliver crosses his arms, his face a hard line that Felicity can’t decode. When Oliver’s upset or nervous he has two defaults - broody and moody. Unfortunately, it looks like he’s transformed into his brood form for this conversation. Great. 

In reality, they both know Felicity doesn’t need his permission to leave the bunker, and if it comes down to saving lives she will absolutely do that at the cost of Oliver being upset with her. But now that they’re back together she doesn’t want to do things alone anymore. They’re a team. It would be hypocritical of her to demand inclusion from Oliver in his decisions if she doesn’t give him the opportunity for the same consideration. 

She knows this is a lot to ask -- if this plan goes south, the most likely scenario is her hurt or _dead_ and that must scare Oliver more than words. It certainly scares her. 

But they aren’t going to accomplish anything hiding behind their fears. 

“Believe me, I am 100% on team ‘not dying’ but I’m just trying to be pragmatic here. I learnt that from you.” 

He still doesn’t seem convinced. She moves from her chair to stand by him, soothingly rubbing his arms. 

“Listen,” she continues softly, “I know this is a risk, but so far Lawton has only targeted me. If I’m really the only one he’s after, aren’t we just delaying the inevitable anyway? This isn’t some random bad guy -- we’ve dealt with Lawton before. He’s precise and smart.” 

“Listen, Ollie,” Thea speaks up, apparently sensing a classic Oliver Queen-style brood coming on. “Nobody wants to dangle Felicity in front of a crazy assassin. It’s not a great idea -- maybe not even a good one -- but time is kind of a factor here and we don’t want Lawton to know we’re on to him. Right now, we have the upper hand. We need to use it.” 

Oliver and Thea exchange weary glances, their eyes saying about a thousand things. Felicity had noticed over the years this telepathic thing the Queen siblings do sometimes. They communicate in an effortless way Felicity has never experienced before; able to sense the others complicated emotions just by the look on their face. It’s not unlike the way Felicity and Oliver can sense when something is off with each other, but this is deeper. It’s a type of understanding born from the heartache they’ve both experienced from losing the people they love most. 

It hurts that  _ this _ is what has bonded them -- loss -- but she’s infinitely glad they have each other.

“I don’t want us baiting Felicity,” Oliver reiterates, “when we have no idea what Lawton’s game plan is. How do we know he’ll only use guns? How do we know he’ll only target Felicity? For all we know, he could blow up the whole damn city trying to get to her -- or whatever it is he’s after. I’m not risking more lives than necessary. No.” 

“I’m with Oliver on this,” Dig interjects, causing Felicity to sigh and roll her eyes because  _ of course _ . It won’t be a true Team Arrow discussion if they weren’t evenly divided. “Even if this isn’t Lawton -- although it probably is -- we don’t have enough information yet. We don’t know who hired him and what his job entails. We don’t go into battle with blinders on.” 

“But this guy is a  _ ghost _ .” Felicity is losing patience. “Up until an hour ago, we thought maybe even literally. If I don’t poke my head out and give him a chance to reveal himself, who will?” 

Oliver doesn’t answer, which she takes as her cue to continue talking since that’s obviously what that means. She inches closer to him, wanting to lace her fingers through his but refraining. 

“Listen, you’re right. We don’t know what Lawton’s endgame is. But the easiest way for us to _ get  _ that information is by using me. The longer I stay down here, hidden, the bigger the chance Lawton could hurt more civilians. And Oliver, if it’s me he’s after, I don’t want that on my conscience. I  _ can’t  _ have that on my conscience.”

Oliver studies her, understanding lightening his features although he’s still hesitant.

“I know you hate this,” she says gently. “But I’m asking you to trust me. I wouldn’t be suggesting this unless I had complete confidence in the team to keep me safe. In  _ you _ to keep me safe.” 

She laces their fingers together then, uncaring that he’s still in brood-mode. He needs this connection. 

“We wouldn’t be walking in there blind, Ollie. You have to know we have more sense than that,” Thea says. 

“She’s right. We can arrange it so it appears like I’m going to work like any other day, completely oblivious to any psycho hitmen, but we have the whole place under surveillance with you all stationed at the easiest vantage points so that when Curtis gets eyes on Lawton from the bunker, you can take him down.” 

“I can also stand by with a few Argus agents, in case things go awry,” Lyla volunteers. Felicity isn’t one to expect favors  from Head Bitch in Charge Lyla Michaels, but she definitely won’t say no to this. 

“Plus since you’re the mayor, Ollie,  you have the power to shut down the roads nearby Palmer Tech for the morning. We can say there’s some sort of road maintenance going on to reduce the number of civilians around and Quentin can use his connections to the SCPD to have them surrounding the area, too.” 

Felicity tries -- and fails -- to keep the smile off her face, trying to be sensitive to Oliver’s feelings and all that jazz, but inside she is mentally fist pumping. The girls in the room really had her back with this one and she’s considering getting them matching bracelets. Or maybe not, they’re too cool for bracelets. Matching tattoos? No, she hates needles… maybe- 

“I know. I know there are precautions we can take,” Oliver’s stubborn voice interrupts her inner debate. “But we have to ask ourselves -- at what cost? If something goes wrong -- if we are even a _ fraction _ of a second too late -- this is her _ life  _ we’re talking about. I’m not risking that.”

And suddenly Felicity is confused and slightly offended because issues involving her life used to be a _ “Felicity, Oliver and Sometimes Starring Dig”  _ conversation and now her life is being talked about like she isn’t in the room. 

“Oliver,” she clears her throat to grab his attention, even though she knows she has it either way. “I’m not suggesting this because I think it’s fun. Believe me, I’m not on some mission to come up plans that make you go grey faster--” Oliver quirks an eyebrow. “I mean - go grey at  _ all _ . Not that you’re going grey right now. Or that I’ve noticed anything. Have - have I mentioned how handsome you are?” 

“Felicity.” 

His voice is calm, the corner of his mouth hinting at a smile. She takes a breath and collects herself. Her little ramble has alleviated some of the tension at least, and she rubs her hands over his arm delicately. 

“I know the risks. I understand the stakes. But I also know this is  _ my _ life, Oliver and I’m not going to put it on pause for who knows how long because we’re scared. I won’t stay underground with some deranged stalker zombie assassin on the loose who could potentially hurt other people because there were  _ risks. _ ” 

His lips twitch even more at her phrasing --  _ alas! He smiles! _ \-- and it loosens something in her chest. She grabs his hands tightly in hers, her heart clenching when she feels a slight tremor in them. 

“I know you worry about me, Oliver and I love you even more for it. But this is my decision. I trust you to protect me.” Her hand reaches to stroke his cheek affectionately, her eyes searching his. “Do you trust me?”

She knows, deep in her soul, he does. But this is more than trusting her to keep him safe via the comms at night or trusting her with his deepest secrets. This is him trusting her with  _ her _ life -- a relinquish of control that Oliver has never had an easy time with. 

“Of course I do,” he affirms, a knee-jerk reaction. “But I…” 

His eyes search the room, hoping it hides the answers he doesn’t want to admit. He sighs, all the stubbornness draining from his face and something like bone-deep fear replacing it. 

“Nothing can happen to you.” 

She tightens her grasp on his hand. “Nothing will,” she promises. She doesn’t know who needs it to be true more -- herself or Oliver. 

Sensing the others in the room, she adds lighty, “I have three superheroes and a government agency protecting me -- all of which I’m fairly sure care pretty passionately about my safety.” 

“She’s right.” Dig approaches them, evidently knowing they needed that moment just the two of them. “We’ll get that son of a bitch and we’ll keep her safe. We’ll keep the whole area under surveillance. He won’t be able to give her so much as a paper cut.” 

It doesn’t matter how many years she’s known John or how many times she’s seen him selflessly put her life before his own -- it will always make her feel warm and fuzzy inside every time his brotherly protectiveness is manifest. It cures something inside her -- a pocket of herself she didn’t know existed, didn’t know longed for the affection of a protective older brother until she had that unconditional affection in her life. 

“Thanks, John,” she says, and he nods as if he knows she means so much more than just thanks. 

Thea chimes in, slinking an arm affectionately around Felicity. “Agreed. I mean, I love kicking sniper ass any day, but when it’s our favorite tech support goddess on the line? The ass-kicking will be so much sweeter.” 

Felicity is feeling a wave of sentimentality wash through her, her love for her team -- no, her  _ family _ \-- making her feel like a pile of goo and --  _ wow _ , would it be weird to instigate a group hug right now? 

“What do you say, big bro?” Thea coaxes. “You ready to catch this guy?” 

Oliver’s clenches his jaw but nods, both girls knowing that is the closest to an agreement they’ll get. She’ll take it. 

Felicity smiles sweetly, leaning her head against his shoulder, her favorite spot. He relaxes a little at her touch, but still not enough. She knows he’s still trapped in his thoughts -- a million terrifying ways this could go wrong on repeat in his head -- but he’s trying. 

It’s all she can expect right now and all she’d ever ask. 

She can feel his heart beating erratically in his chest and she hopes the feeling of her in his arms grounds him. They used to have this thing when they first got together, when Oliver would wake up from a nightmare and couldn’t get back to sleep, he’d rest his head ever-so-softly on her chest, between her breasts and she’d run her fingers through his hair in the way she knew soothed him. Sometimes it worked and Oliver would fall back asleep, sometimes it didn’t (some demons couldn’t be chased away, no matter how good Felicity was at cuddling) but it always grounded him. 

One night, he’d told her the beat of her heart was more soothing than any white noise machine they could purchase. She’d blushed and chuckled, teasing him about what a sap Oliver Queen had become, if only their enemies could see him now. 

She’d laughed, but deep down it had scared her. 

If she was the only thing that could comfort Oliver on nights like that, what would happen if something ever happened to her and she wasn’t there after a nightmare? Would he ever get back to sleep? Would he be doomed to sleepless nights and a life unsettled? 

She didn’t know what scared her more -- the idea of dying and leaving a life unfinished or the idea of leaving Oliver alone forever, a prisoner to his demons. 

As the nights progressed, Oliver’s had nightmares less and less, to the point where this worry had long abandoned her. It’s days like today that remind her. Days that makes Oliver’s insecurities rear their ugly head and she’s forced to confront the possibility that she might not always be there to ground him. 

She would never tell Oliver, but it’s one of her greatest fears. 

“So when are we doing this thing?” Thea asks unceremoniously. “Because not to be a buzzkill but I’m pretty sure Lawton isn’t going to just wait around for Felicity before he starts killing people to get to her.”

“Thea’s right,” Lyla says as the group of them shuffle back to Felicity’s workstation where she takes her seat and starts typing a lightning speed. 

“Felicity, can you track possible places Lawton could be hiding out -- run-down apartments in the Glades, motels, abandoned warehouses and such?” Lyla asks. 

Felicity tries --  _ tries _ being the keyword -- to not be offended by Lyla’s innocent question. She’s not here with them everyday, so maybe she doesn’t realize the extent of Felicity’s abilities. Still, it’s been a long while since anyone has underestimated her. 

“I’ll do you one better,” Felicity declares. “I’ll even figure out just where in Russia our little assassin friend came from. If we can track his whereabouts in Russia we can find out who he was working for and what business he has in Star City. Or, with me, it appears.” 

She catches Oliver’s flinch out of the corner of her eye. 

“That’s great, Felicity. I’ll call my team at Argus so they can send agents for operation Deadshot,” Lyla affirms, probably not even realizing she just gave their mission an Argus codename. 

Operation Deadshot… she doesn’t hate it. This is probably as close to a spy as she’ll ever feel. 

“Thank you for the assist, Lyla. We appreciate it.” Oliver gives her a curt nod which Lyla returns before exiting the room. 

“I need to meet up with Quentin to discuss some mayoral business so… I’ll see you all tomorrow to kick some Deadshot butt. Try not to worry yourself grey, big brother.” Thea winks before following Lyla. Oliver huffs and shakes his head, although she can tell some of his tension has lessened. 

Felicity cracks her knuckles and starts running searches, grateful for the distraction. If she can just get in the zone of hacking, it’d be easier for her to forget the target on her head or the weight in her chest. 

She’s so intently focused on her computers that it takes a moment for her to notice the unusual buzzing noise in the lair, unlike anything she’s ever heard before. It’s like the sound of static electricity but… different. Her head whips around, looking for the source of the noise. 

Some crazy combination of red streaks and lightning is moving around the lair like a tornado, papers flying haphazardly and a few things from the med table falling to the ground and shattering. 

It’s bizarrely familiar but so out of context it takes Felicity a second to realize she’s seen this phenomenon before.

_ Barry.  _

The whirlwind of motion stops, and Barry steps in front of them unceremoniously. She lets out a little sigh of relief -- people coming into the lair unannounced usually ends a lot worse -- before taking in his appearance. 

There’s several things that bother her about the way Barry looks, most specifically the fact that he has a  _ beard _ . Barry doesn’t have a beard. At least, the last time she’d seen him he hadn’t, which was just a little over two months ago. This beard is long and unkempt, not totally unlike the one Oliver sported nearly a decade ago when he was rescued from Lian Yu. 

And, no offense to Iris or Barry himself, but she can’t imagine what would possess Barry to grow this monstrosity besides literally being stranded on a deserted island too. 

She can’t imagine him growing one so quickly -- or so fully, if she’s being honest -- and she’s seen enough weird stuff happen these past years to not be immediately suspicious that this is  _ their  _ earth’s Barry. 

Oliver, evidently, has the same suspicions. He approaches this scraggly version of Barry, bow drawn. “Barry?” 

“Barry” puts his hands up defensively, a panicked expression written on his face. “Hey, hey, hey, hold up! It’s me!” 

“You don’t look a lot like the Barry we know,” Dig growls, gun pointed at him. “Explain yourself.” 

Barry keeps his hands up, rooted to the spot he’d appeared in. Felicity takes it as a good sign, because although Barry is lightning fast and could easily disarm Oliver and Dig before they can blink, he's not trying to. 

“I’m not from here -- from your time, at least. I’m from the future.” 

Oliver doesn’t lower his bow. “Prove it.” 

Barry opens and closes his mouth on nothing, clearly not knowing how to diffuse the situation before blurting, “I kissed Felicity!” 

Oliver lowers his bow slightly at that, confusion etched on his face. “What?” 

Felicity rolls her eyes and groans. _ Of course _ this is their Barry -- he is the only one dumb enough to use _ that _ as his example. 

“Barry!” She exclaims, rightfully mortified. “Of all the possible things that we’ve done in the past four years you chose us kissing as your proof? Really?!” 

Oliver lowers his bow completely, still frowning. She can’t really blame him. Dig tucks his gun into his belt and watches the exchange, rolling his eyes. 

“How about, I don’t know, fighting aliens from another earth? Beating Vandal Savage? That one time Oliver shot you with his arrows? All good examples!” 

Barry rubs the back of his neck, wincing.  “Sorry. I… sorry. My bad.” 

“What are you doing here, Barry?” Oliver asks, skipping any pleasantries or possible embarrassing memories he can resurface. 

“And  _ when _ are you from?” 

“I can’t say and… it’s complicated.” 

“You can’t say when you’re from or it’s complicated?” Felicity asks, eyes narrowed.

“Well, both, honestly. But I can’t say when I’m from or it could disrupt the current timeline.” 

“Couldn’t you being here  _ at all _ disrupt the timeline, technically?” 

“It could. Which is why I can’t stay long and I can’t give you many details.” 

Felicity stands up from her chair and stretches, mentally preparing herself for another battle they’ll have to fight. Hopefully this one isn’t a huge time constraint, since they already have a zombie assassin to stop. 

“What’s going on, Barry?” Oliver asks again, his posture stiff. Oliver has never done well with unexpected distractions -- the Barry kind particularly have always been a bit of an annoyance for him.  Her poor man is already wound so tight over Deadshot being back, she honestly doesn’t know how much more shock he can take. 

Maybe Barry’s here with good news? 

“Felicity, you’re in grave danger.” 

Okay. Maybe not. 

“If you’re talking about Floyd Lawton, we already know. He tried to attack Felicity twice already,” Dig says. 

Barry grimaces, what looks like guilt passing over his face. “I’m sorry. I should have come sooner. I didn’t realize…” 

“Didn’t realize what?” Oliver demands. 

“When traveling through time, things can get muddled a little bit. Specific periods of time are easy to locate, but specific dates are different. I meant to get here two days ago…” 

Felicity can sense Barry’s regret, but there’s no time to dwell on that now. “If you know about Deadshot and you’re from the future, then you know how we beat him. You need to help us.” 

“The whole Deadshot thing isn’t really why I’m here. Not exactly, anyway.” 

Moments pass with Barry not elaborating and suddenly Felicity is  _ furious. _ Why come back just to withhold crucial information? What good will that do? 

“Then  _ why are you here _ , Barry?” Oliver is at his wits end too, apparently. 

“I’m not here to stop Deadshot. That’s you guys. I came here because of who ordered the hit. It was a terrible mistake, something I know they didn’t mean for, so I’m stopping it before it happens.” 

Felicity turns his words over in her head, her brain working in overdrive. 

“Is it someone from Russia? Since that’s where Lawton’s been?” 

“Um… no. And he’s not from Russia.” Barry licks his lips, meeting Oliver’s hardened eyes. “He’s from my time.” 

Felicity’s brain stops working at that. 

“Yeah, this is definitely out of my area of expertise,” she mumbles. 

“Why is he here?” Oliver looks even stiffer, if at all possible. Up until ten minutes ago, they had a solid plan to extract Lawton and intel that they thought gave them the edge. 

And within these past ten minutes, Barry has effectively shown them they have no idea what they’re dealing with. Or who. 

“I don’t know. I don’t know why he chose  _ this _ time to come back to, but when I realized what had happened I followed him here. With the way time travel works, though, I still arrived a few days after him.” 

“And you came back just to tell us this? Only to warn us?” Oliver questions. 

“That’s all I can do, Oliver. I’m sorry. If I stay any longer or give any more information… it could really screw things up. I learned that the hard way.” 

Felicity scoffs. She’s not in the mood for Barry’s apologies anymore. “Yeah, we know.” 

“I’m sorry.” 

She looks up at Barry, feeling a twinge of guilt. He looks honestly apologetic -- and to be frank, the worst she has ever seen him. Either traveling back in time ages you or the years have not been kind to Barry. Aside from the tragic beard, his eyes look tired, frown lines evident on his face. He looks like he hasn’t showered or slept in days, and it belatedly occurs to Felicity he’s not even wearing his Flash suit -- just some rundown jeans and a sweater. 

Is this what the future looks like for all of them? 

“When I realized what happened and what time Deadshot had gone to, I knew I had to warn you so you can stop him. If you don’t, the results could be…” he trails off, shaking his head, not wanting to finish his sentence. And honestly, they don’t need him to. 

“But Deadshot is from the future, so in your timeline… this has never happened before. Hence why you can’t tell us how to defeat him.” Felicity pieces together, the last thread of hope she had been dangling to slipping from her fingers into obscurity. 

Barry nods. 

“I wish there was more I could do to help. I really do. The most I can do is tell you who you’re up against. In fact, I should go back now. The longer I stay, the more chance I could mess with more in the timeline.” 

Oliver crosses his arms, unyielding. “You’re not going anywhere, Barry. Not until you tell us who ordered the hit on Felicity.”

“Oliver, I can’t…” Barry’s eyes are pleading, begging him to let this go. 

Oliver growls, slamming his fist on the table beside him harshly. “Barry! This isn’t a discussion. You’re telling us  _ now.” _

“Okay! Let’s just calm down for a second. Barry traveled all the way back in time to help us, Oliver. He did a good thing. It’s okay.” She steps forward, placing a hand on his arm and rubs soothing circles. Unlike earlier, it doesn’t seem to have the desired effect and Oliver just stands there, indignant. 

“It’s not _ okay, _ Felicity! Barry knows crucial information that could help us find who else wants to hurt you and he’s refusing. It’s unacceptable.” Despite saying these words directly to Felicity, Oliver doesn’t look away from Barry the whole time, his eyes venomous. 

“We can’t force information out of him, honey. He’s not a prisoner.” Oliver quirks an eyebrow at that, as if getting an idea and Felicity puts out that fire real quick. “He  _ won’t  _ be a prisoner, Oliver.” 

Oliver growls, tucking in his lips as if resisting the urge to argue more. He looks away, muscles clenching and Felicity’s seen that look enough times to know he’s trying to refrain from punching something -- or someone. 

Barry, for his part, doesn’t look scared but resigned -- as if seeing Oliver in this mechanical-like state isn’t a new sight for him. It rubs her the wrong way, because Oliver and Barry’s friendship hasn’t been teeth-baring or arrow-injury inducing in years. They’ve actually become good friends. 

What’s changed over the years to make _ this  _ a typical interaction?

Oliver takes a deep breath, redirecting. “Barry.  _ Please _ tell us who ordered the hit on Felicity.” 

“It’s not that simple, Oliver.” 

“Well  _ make it _ simple, Barry,” Oliver hisses. 

Barry looks around the room, a mixture of indecision and dread written on his face. He had to have known it would come to this, an obvious question, and he is still dragging his feet about answering. 

It doesn’t annoy Felicity; it terrifies her.

Who could possibly be so bad that Barry’s afraid to even say their name? 

Barry looks up at Oliver, timid. His eyes are begging. 

“It doesn’t matter who did it. What matters is that you stop it.” 

“We  _ are _ going to stop it. But you need to tell us who, Barry. Now.” 

Barry’s mask of indecision comes off his face, replaced with bone-deep dread and regret. She doesn’t know why it’s written on his face, but it unsettles her. 

“Please…” 

Barry looks her in the eye and it hits Felicity like a gut-punch. The timid, resigned looks he’s been shooting Oliver weren’t directed at Oliver at all -- they were for her.  _ She’s _ the one Barry is afraid to tell.  _ She’s  _ the reason he can’t form the words. 

Barry’s shoulders sag, defeated. 

All of sudden, it’s like Felicity is lifted from the room as she experiences an ill-timed case of deja vu. She is transported back to three years ago, when Malcolm Merlyn had stood in the foundry and displayed a sword with Oliver’s blood on it, proving he was really dead. A two second demonstration that proved he was never coming home and made her world concave around her, right there. 

That day, she had felt Malcolm’s words before he said them, a hollow premonition of her worst fears come true. She’d known, in her bones, and she desperately hadn’t want to. 

“Tell us, Barry,” Oliver urges. 

That moment, she had always considered her rock bottom. She’s been no stranger to devastation since, but that moment had always felt different to her. 

That was her crucible. That was her Gambit sinking. 

Barry takes a breath, looking up to meet her eyes again.

Felicity didn’t think another moment could rip the breath from her lungs, turn her legs to jelly, make her feel like the ground was turning to quicksand beneath her feet the way losing Oliver had. Nothing could touch that. 

Until now.

“It was you.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry. Please don't hate me. I promise it'll all make sense... eventually. 
> 
> Compliments? Death threats? Let me know what you think! xoxo


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi! It's been a little while. Partly cause I'm busy and partly cause writer's block is.... um... THE WORST.   
> I'm not extremely happy with how this chapter turned out, but the next chapter is one I've been excited to write since I first started brain storming this story a year and a half ago so let's get this party started.

When Oliver was plunged off the mountaintop by Ra’s Al Ghul’s sword, he remembers feeling peacefully helpless. He knew he was going to die. He knew there were so many things he had left to do -- so many wrongs he wanted to right -- that he would never get the chance to. But he was already falling. The end was inevitable. 

It was calming. Oliver Queen has been given many choices in his life, and most of the time he chose wrong. He was tired of choosing. 

He felt relieved that his death was a choice completely out of his hands. 

Barry’s admission made Oliver feel a similar sensation of helplessly falling, a dark calm that came with realizing things were completely out of his control. 

He’s a monster in the not-so-distant future. 

The killer he’d always known himself to be. 

Why had he ever thought he had the choice of being anything different? 

“Dammit, Barry,” John’s irate voice cuts into his thoughts. “Why is it every time you come around you turn our lives into some cartoon-like shit show? You can’t come just to say hi?”

Barry winces, but stays silent. 

Oliver desperately wants to know how Felicity is processing this news, but he can’t bring himself to look at her. Her hand is still clutching his arm tightly, unwavering, but he’s been around people in shock enough to know this might not be a conscious response. 

Maybe she just needs something to cling to, and he’s the closest thing. 

He wishes she wouldn’t, though. He’s not someone she should rely on. 

“So obviously the future timeline that we’re living in is… complicated,” Felicity says. 

“Yeah, to say the least,” Barry agrees. 

The older version of his friend is still throwing him for a loop, because if Barry’s unkempt appearance is anything go off, this is a future none of them want. 

He can’t imagine what happens in the future that makes him want to hurt Felicity. 

There’s not a bone in his body that would ever want to harm her. The thought of her being hurt -- or worse -- makes bile rise in his throat. So what happens -- what kind of person does he become that would want something like this?

And is there anyway to stop it from happening? 

“Doesn’t telling us this at all… mean that this won’t happen?” Oliver doesn’t know much about the science of time-travel, but he’s seen enough movies to know about the Butterfly Effect. 

“I mean -- possibly? Maybe? It’s impossible to say. Certain things are written in stone about the future -- things that can’t be undone, no matter what route you take. Others are not. I don’t know about this.” 

Barry’s answer doesn’t fill him with the hope he wants it to, but it doesn’t completely cancel out the possibility either. 

“What kind of future are we living in?” Felicity’s voice is tiny, but her question slices through Oliver like a blade. She’s questioning everything -- questioning the man he will become, the man he is now. And who could blame her? 

Maybe she’s seeing him for the monster he’s always been afraid he is. 

Her hand on his arm loosens, dropping completely to her side while she walks back to her computers robotically. 

Oliver tries not to watch her go, but he can’t bare to look away. 

A masochist at heart, always. 

“I’m sorry I told you guys. I didn’t want to say anything and worry you more than you need to be,” Barry says.

“Well there’s a deadly assassin from a different  _ time  _ targeting us and now apparently a terrible future where everything sucks so us not worrying went out the window a long time ago, Barry,” Felicity snaps.  He knows her well enough to know her anger isn’t at Barry, but at the situation, and by the knowing nod Barry gives her he likely knows too. 

Oliver shuffles his feet and looks down, unable to watch Felicity a moment longer. John, perceptive as always, puts a comforting hand on his shoulder. 

“Listen, man, we don’t know for sure what happens or how. Let’s not jump to any conclusions about the future right now. Let’s just deal with Deadshot and then with everything else.”

Oliver nods. He feels like his world has been tipped off his axis, the future he had hoped -- naively -- for himself being ripped from his hands before he even got a firm grasp on it. 

“If it was… is… Oliver that does this, why didn’t we stop him? Why didn’t the team or-or myself stop him? And why didn’t we stop Lawton from coming back in time… wait… is that like, a normal thing now? Time travel?” Felicity asks. 

Barry shrugs helplessly. “There wasn’t any time. I tried to… to talk him out of it but I couldn’t. And I didn’t realize soon enough that Deadshot had came back to this time, instead, before it was too late. That’s why it’s my mess to clean up and my responsibility to tell you who you’re dealing with.” 

“What time was he supposed to go to?” 

“I think… five years ago.” Barry sucks in a breath. “Before the two of you ever met.” 

“Why would he need to go back that far?” Felicity whispers, a hitch of fear in her voice. 

“I… I don’t know, Felicity. I wish I could tell you more, but I really can’t. I’m already risking a lot being here at all.” 

“Let’s just solve one problem at a time.” John shifts closer to Felicity, crouching to look at her monitors. “Now we now that Deadshot is from the future, as crazy as this sounds, it might make it easier for us to track him.” 

Felicity hesitates but begins typing.  

“Well it does solve the problem of how we have proof of him in Russia from two days ago. Present day Lawton must still be in Russia, and Future Lawton is in Star City.”

“Then he’s likely our sniper that killed our recent Vertigo dealer, too,” Oliver chimes in. 

“Most likely,” Felicity affirms, but the way she doesn’t even glance at him as she responds does nothing to ease the ache in his stomach. 

“So if Lawton’s here to hurt Felicity and he hasn’t done that yet, he’s likely hiding somewhere close, waiting,” Dig points out. 

“That’s… comforting,” Felicity mumbles. “Boom! Here we go. I have the address of Lawton’s old apartment saved on file, lucky for us. I don’t really know  _ why  _ I have it saved, given we all thought he’d been dead for 3 years but nevertheless, here we go. Maybe on some subconscious level I’m always prepared for dead people to come back since it’s a staple of our lives.” 

“What’s his address?” Oliver asks. 

Dig tosses him a disbelieving look. “You don’t think he’s dumb enough to use his old apartment as his current hideout?” 

“I think he’s counting on us not having the advantage of knowing he’s from the future, yes.” 

Felicity turns to Barry, who’s slight fidgeting has captured her attention. “You don’t have any idea where he could be hiding out, do you Barry?” 

The older looking speedster shakes his head. “I don’t know much about Lawton at all, besides what year he landed in when he left my time.” 

The way Barry has been fidgeting nervously since he arrived doesn’t give Felicity the impression that that’s all he knows, but she lets it go. She can tell Oliver’s already on edge as is, any more future truth bombs and he might explode. 

“His apartment is off Freemont in the Glades,” she tells them and Dig and Oliver immediately move towards their suits, needing no more prompting. 

After suiting up, Oliver circles back towards Felicity, hand landing tentatively on her shoulder. “I’ll tell you when I’m on sight.” 

“Okay.” 

It’s something that normally goes without saying -- a well practiced dance they have memorized over the years -- but she can tell Oliver needs the extra reassurance that they are on stable ground, so she gives it to him.

“Be safe,” she offers, and the smile he gives her in return doesn’t reach his eyes but it’ll have to be enough.

The elevator doors shutting singles that her boys have left and she tries to rebalance herself with the new information she’s gotten in the last hour. 

So, Lawton is not only alive but from the future. Weird. 

And he’s trying to kill her, apparently. Double weird. 

She takes a stabilizing breath, counts to ten. She tries to focus. But if there’s one thing Felicity has never excelled at it’s beating around the bush, so lets out a breath and stands up. 

“You gonna tell me why every time you look at me it looks like you’ve seen a ghost, Barry?”

Barry looks up, startled. She can pinpoint the moment he tries to control his reaction. _ Damn him _ , she thinks. _ If only we weren’t so similar I might never have noticed.  _

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Come on, Barry. Don’t beat around the bush with me. I know you well enough to know when you’re lying. Basically because you’re like me when you’re lying. And I am not a very good liar.” 

He fidgets, clearly uncomfortable. “I’m sorry… I don’t know what you want me to say.” 

“Tell me the truth.”

“I’ve told you _so much_ already! Too much. _Way_ too much.” There’s a pained expression on his face; part exasperation, part guilt. 

“Then it can’t hurt to tell a little more?” 

“ _ Felicity. _ ” He sighs. It’s the first time he’s looked at her with anything besides thinly veiled fear since he arrived. 

“Barry. If there’s something you’re not telling us that could help us stop Lawton… that could save me or any member of the team, I think it’s your responsibility to tell us.” 

“It’s not like that, Felicity. It’s nothing…” He clears his throat. “It’s not something that will help anyone.” 

She pauses, tilting her head in confusion. She’d assumed Barry’s weird looks and fidgety hesitance to divulge anything came from the fear and guilt of knowing he should tell them something. Maybe she had misinterpreted things?

But still. Mysterious bug her. She needs to solve them.

“You should know me well enough by now to know how stubborn I am,” she says defiantly. “I’m not going to let this go.” 

“Yeah, Felicity, I do remember that.”

If the wistfulness in his tone didn’t give him away, his phrasing would have. 

“Wait… remember?” 

Barry’s eyes widen, like he’s realizing how revealing his answer was. The fear written on his face matches hers, but for different reasons. 

Why does Barry only  _ remember  _ her? She swallows roughly, trying to think of scenarios that could make sense -- maybe she’s not a part of Team Arrow anymore, maybe Barry and Oliver had a falling out, maybe maybe maybe…. 

Another thing Felicity has never been good at? Denial. 

Before she can speak, John and Oliver walk through the elevator doors. 

“It was a dead end, Felicity. No sign of Lawton anywhere. Do you want…” Oliver trails off, looking between her and Barry. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” they both say at the same time. 

“That’s not very convincing.” 

She beelines for her computers, babbling incoherently. She’s honestly not sure what words are even coming out of her mouth at this point, she just needs her mouth to keep moving to distract from the grim truth that’s sitting at the corners of her mind like a bad dream. 

“Did you find a lead that could help us with Lawton?” John asks. 

“No.” 

Oliver gives her a look. “Just no? What were you two talking about before we came back?”

She doesn’t answer. It’s not that she doesn’t want to tell Oliver what she’s afraid Barry just confessed, she just can’t right now. It’s too much. The idea of forcing the words out makes her feel like she’s going to collapse. 

Oliver, stubborn man that he is, walks closer to her until he’s kneeling at her side. He grasps her hand with his gloved one. The leather is harsh and grounding; it centers her in an unexpected way. 

“Hey….” His voice is soft like butter. “What’s going on? Just tell me, honey.” 

She looks at her computers until the brightness makes her eyes water. She can’t look into his eyes, the ones she loves so much, and tell him she thinks the future is much worse than Barry led them to believe. Those eyes will turn from a happy crystal blue into a sad dusky navy. She doesn’t want that. She hates that. 

“I should run some more searches.”

Her voice cracks unexpectedly, and she curses herself because if not for that maybe they could have put this conversation off for a bit longer. 

“Felicity…” 

“Ask Barry.” 

“What’s going on, Barry?”

“I… um…” Barry stammers, but Oliver eyes him with a look Felicity can only label venomous. 

Still, Barry doesn’t budge. 

“I’m getting very impatient here, Barry. And I think we all know what happens when I’m impatient.” 

The threat is vague, but it’s there, and the image of Oliver shooting Barry with arrows for ‘training’ once upon a time spins through her head. 

It must spin through Barry’s too, because he immediately stiffens. 

“I’m not doing this to be cruel, you guys, but there really are serious repercussions for sharing too much about the future. I know about that better than anyone.” 

“Really, Barry?” Dig’s tone is rife with sarcasm, no doubt recalling the little girl he doesn’t remember due to Barry’s unfortunate dealings with time. 

He winces. “Sorry. I just… I don’t want to hurt more people than I already have.” Barry turns to her, pleading. “Please, Felicity. You have to understand this better than anyone.” 

“I think you need to tell us the full story of why you’re here. And not just because Lawton somehow magically came back to this time. There is a reason you’re here with us right now. There’s a reason why you came back. And I’m sorry, but I don’t believe there’s a universe where Oliver would  _ ever  _ want to hurt me, regardless of how terrible things get. And even if, let’s say, someone invents some sort of drug that makes Oliver go completely wacko, Dig or I or  _ somebody _ still would have stopped him! Why didn’t I stop him, Barry?” 

Felicity’s breathless now, heart hammering in her chest, waiting in tense silence for a truth she doesn’t want. She needs to hear it. Just once. Then she can process; she can put on her brave face and deal as best she can. But she just needs to hear it. She deserves to know. 

And so does Oliver.

There is a tiny voice in her head, screaming at her through her fears;  _ Protect and save. Protect and save. Protect and save.  _

Is she talking about herself or Oliver? And are the two mutually exclusive? 

Barry looks at her, stricken. They both know what’s coming. God, if only she wasn’t a genius. If only Barry wasn’t a terrible liar. If only, if only, if only. 

A weight, heavy like led, sits in her chest. She tries to gulp, but can’t. She can’t breathe. All the air has been sucked out of the room. 

She looks to Oliver -- her lifeline, her heart. He always knows what to say to calm her down. 

Not today. 

He looks sickly pale, the muscles in his jaw notably tense. 

Her eyes switch to John. If Oliver isn’t handling this well, maybe John is. He’s always been their rock. 

John is standing stiff as a board, fists clenched tight. 

No such luck.

_ Nice, guys _ , she thinks bitterly.  _ You can’t keep it together for me this one time?  _

“You need to tell me, Barry.” Her voice is coarse, rough like jagged rocks and she prides herself on not sounding like she’s about to cry, because that’s exactly what she wants to do. 

Later on, she’ll try to remember this feeling, this slow processing pain inflating her, and try to identify it because it’s nothing like she’s felt before. 

She remembers the pain of being shot in the limo the night of their engagement; that had been a shooting pain, physically encompassing until she had passed out from it.

The day she found out about Oliver’s lie and knew the end was imminent for them had been like a dull, stabbing pain. All she’d had to do was pull the knife out and then she had been comfortably numb. 

Havenrock had felt like a mallet to her esophagus, a guilty pain in her heart, but it’s not the same as this.

Really, she’s never experienced anything like this. It’s like falling, like knowing the ground is coming before she even hits it with a harsh thud. 

She wonders if this is what Oliver felt when Ra’s pushed him off the mountain top.

“Felicity…” Barry begins. “In my time, you’ve been dead for a year.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and kudos always welcome and appreciated! Please tell me what you thought, and where you think this story is going because I love people's ideas and theories :) It makes writing these so fun!   
> Next chapter should be posted soon and... it's an angsty one. asdkjdfakldsjfas  
> xoxo


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don't hate me for this. If it upsets you, know that I cried at several different points writing it.
> 
> This chapter deals with heavy subjects, mentions of suicide and major character deaths. Please read with caution. 
> 
> Ah... I'm sorry it took me so long, but my nerves over this chapter and how it would be received as well as wanting to execute it perfectly left me unable to write it for a while. But then I put on my big girl panties, got some coffee and... this happened. We see a very dark Oliver in this chapter, probably darker than he's ever been in the show. I had to push him to his breaking point so we could understand why Future!Oliver could ever get to the point where hurting Felicity makes sense in his warped brain. And it is a very warped and wrong idea, but Oliver isn't thinking clearly. It deals with some very heavy things and it's a mooooonster of a chapter. So bear with me. Everything will make sense soon. 
> 
> Thank you for reading and for anyone that's been reading this since the beginning - THANK YOU for your patience. 
> 
> PPS really please don't hate me

**Star City, 2025**

 

He called himself Thanatos, for no greater reason than he believed himself to be the personification of death. 

Oliver remembered bits of pieces of the Greek mythology he’d learned in college, and like always, it had been Felicity who had filled in the blanks for him. He wasn’t supposed to be more than another crime lord trying to make Star City their first kill. He wasn’t supposed to be ten steps ahead of them. He wasn’t supposed to know their weaknesses. 

He wasn’t supposed to exploit them. 

He wasn’t supposed to take everything from him. 

Oliver doesn’t know much of Greek mythology -  he was always more of a Shakespeare guy. And one quote from him cycles through Oliver’s mind on an endless loop, the only thing he truly believes now. 

_ Hell is empty and all the devils are here.  _

&&&&&

The team fights him, stubbornly and without reserve, for two years. 

Thanatos is unlike anyone Oliver has ever faced -- cunning, manipulative, but worst of all, not afraid to go for the jugular. Felicity once made an offhand comment about him being a combination of “Adrian Chase, Slade Wilson, and Satan.” 

Oliver had shook his head and chuckled. 

(He hasn’t chuckled or anything resembling that in a long time. What does it feel like again?)

The day Oliver realized that Thanatos was a bigger threat than anyone before him was the day he blew up the Star City Rockets game. 

3, 123 people died that day. 

No matter how much time passes or how much loss he suffers, that thought never fails to make him feel sick. 

He remembers the commotion around him after the explosion -- Felicity typing frantically on her computer, Dinah and Rene rushing to put on their suits, naively hoping there would be survivors. Roy hovering behind Felicity anxiously, hands shoved deep in his pockets. Thea looking deathly pale, like she might fall to the ground at any moment. Dig standing next to him, still and silent.  

Dig had known too, the same revelation Oliver felt with sinking clarity in his gut. He should have suspected as much; Dig and himself were always on the same page about these things. 

Thanatos was going to be the end of Team Arrow. 

&&&&&&

Ella Dearden Queen was born on a Monday, six months before Thanatos appeared. She had piercing blue eyes, like Felicity and his own sandy blonde hair. She was bright and beautiful and the most good he could ever hope to do. 

Felicity had taken a few months off of her job as CEO of Smoak Technologies and stayed out of the bunker -- with the occasional remote hacking from their living room, of course -- to take care of Ella after her birth. She’d complained at first -- making sure Oliver knew she had no intention of forking her responsibility at Smoak Tech or her nightly duties at the bunker over to Curtis long term -- but Oliver could tell she loved every moment. For as much as Felicity had fretted the months leading up to Ella’s birth about being a good mother and not “turning into an overbearing momzilla” like her own, she’d been a natural, just like Oliver knew she would. 

And like they agreed, when Felicity went back to work full-time Oliver took a break from his day job to take care of Ella. William was leaving for college in the fall that year in Gotham City, and as much as it was bittersweet to say, he was a young man with a life of his own now. Oliver and Felicity would always be there in any way he needed them, but it was time for William to make his own definition for himself, not as the Green Arrow’s son or the step-son of Smoak Tech’s CEO. 

It wasn’t easy, balancing work and their lives on Team Arrow with their growing family but they did it how they had learned to do everything: together. Gone were the days of Oliver brooding on his own or making decisions alone that impacted their lives. Oliver and Felicity were a team; a package deal. They fought together, they celebrated victories together, they took losses as one. 

He’d never felt closer to Felicity and it had a lot to do with the life they had created together, an irreplaceable feeling Oliver hadn’t even realized he needed. 

Their life wasn’t perfect (nothing ever is) but it was all Oliver could have asked for. 

Something Oliver never planned for was how quickly that life could be ripped away.

&&&&&

It happens the night of the city-wide blackout. 

Thanatos and his legion of followers had already succeeded in taking over most of the city. The SCPD precinct was nothing more than a graffitied dump and the city hall that Oliver had been sworn into all those years ago was a wasteland.  It depresses him, when he allows himself to think about it. The city that he had loved and wanted to raise his family in was almost completely unrecognizable. 

Still, the team fought tooth and nail for the city they had sworn to protect. They took precautions. Oliver called in reinforcements -- namely, Barry and some of the Legends, including Sara. Dig had called Lyla, and she brought in who she could from Argus to be stationed in Star City until it was safe again. Thanatos seemed to be an unbeatable foe but Oliver still -- blindly, naively -- held out hope that with the right people on their side, they could stop him. 

He was foolish. 

The power went out across the city that evening leading to a widespread panic. Hospitals couldn’t use their equipment, no internet connection meant no distress signals, and no security cameras running meant a free for all, basically. Thankfully, Felicity kept a backup generator in the bunker for emergencies like these so the team could see where Thanatos and his men were. 

Star City National Bank. 

It seemed like white collar crime for Thanatos -- after killing thousands of civilians, why turn around and rob a bank in person? Why not wire the money into an untraceable account? It gave Oliver an unsettling feeling in the pit of his stomach, but he shoved it aside. 

After everything, Oliver wasn’t going to look a gift-horse in the mouth. They had the advantage of knowing exactly where Thanatos and his men were that night and they were going to take it. 

It’s not until they’re on site that Oliver realizes it’s a trap. 

There’s a small voice, an undercurrent of alarm sounding in his head saying  _ you fool. You fool, you fool, you should have known.  _

“Mr. Green Arrow. We’ve been expecting you.” 

As ironic as it may seem, he’s been fighting Thanatos for two years and still has never heard his voice. The man has always disguised his voice or used his men to get his message out. He hears it now with absolute clarity and it sends a shiver down his spine. 

The man who calls himself Thanatos sits atop a glass staircase and Oliver assumes he must have chosen Star City bank as his stage for its grandiose nature. 

“I’m not here to introduce myself,” Oliver replies, bow drawn. 

Although they didn’t know it was a trap, they aren’t going in blind, either. Felicity’s still on comms in the bunker, using blueprints of the bank to direct them since security cameras are down. Dig and Dinah stand on either side of him, and he knows Thea and Roy have taken the back entrance while Rene, Barry and Sara cover the side exits. Lyla and a small team of Argus agents are stealthily stored outside, waiting for their signal. 

It’s all of them against one man. Oliver had thought it a fool-proof plan. 

Little did he know he had played right into Thanatos hand. 

“I’m guessing it’s not just the three of you. You’ve brought your team, I hope.” 

“You’re outnumbered. Even with all your men, we still outnumber you. Surrender now and we won’t kill you.” 

Thanatos looks at Oliver, blinks a few times as if studying him and then laughs. 

“My dear boy. I don’t care whatsoever that I’m outnumbered. I was counting on it actually. I gave it a lot of thought. You and I meeting.” He begins to descend down the staircase joviantly, like there aren’t three masked vigilantes aiming weapons at him. Like they couldn’t just kill him at any moment. 

“I considered inviting you here, ambushing you and killing all your like-minded colleagues but I figured… where is the art in that? Where is the spectacle? If you are going to exterminate an bug you don’t simply start killing every single one you see. No… you go right to the source. To the hive, if you will. So I began thinking… where is your  _ hive _ , Mr. Green Arrow?” 

An uneasiness coils in the pit of Oliver’s stomach. 

“Killing you tonight might be great fun but it wouldn’t end all vigilantes. You would simply go back to your source, regroup and challenge me again. The game continues. I think I would rather eradicate you at the source first, hm? Spare us all the time?” 

Oliver can’t breathe. Something is wrong. Something is very, very wrong and it’s on the tip of tongue but he can’t say it, can’t think the words because then they might become true. 

“It took me a while,” he continues, reaching the end of the steps to stand before them. Oliver could pull back his bow and land it squarely in Thanatos chest, no question.  “But I found your source. Your hive. It was very clever, hiding it in plain sight all these years. I might have to store away that idea for future reference.” 

Oliver’s heart stops. 

Felicity.

Felicity is at the bunker. By herself. Unprotected. 

In all their preparations to outman Thanatos tonight they overlooked one critical detail. 

_ Felicity. _

Oliver presses his hand into his comms so hard it may bruise. “Felicity! Felicity, are you there?” 

He hears nothing but static and his heart plummets. 

Then - 

“Arrow? What’s going on?” 

He breathes a sigh of relief. 

“Are you okay?”

Her voice is slightly muffled by the static interception but he can hear her. “I’m fine. My comms keeps cutting out, I can barely hear what’s going on.” She doesn’t sound panicked or hurt. Oliver takes that as a good sign. 

“It was weird though… Raisa dropped off Ella at the bunker. She said that you had called and told her to do that? Did you?” 

And all at once, the earth stops moving around Oliver and his heart sinks, sinks so far into the ground he’s not even sure he can reach it.  

_No._

Oliver’s eyes flash to Thanatos, who’s standing in front of him, so calm and collected. 

It hits him. 

He knows exactly who Oliver’s talking to. He knows exactly who Oliver is. He knows exactly what Oliver’s weak spots are and he knows exactly how to obliterate them. 

No. 

“Felicity, you need to take her and get of the bunker  _ now. _ ” 

“Oliver? What’s-”

“NOW, Felicity.” 

He doesn’t hear anything for 7 seconds. They are the longest 7 seconds of his life. 

“Oliver! The doors -- the doors are locked! I can’t override them! Wh-” 

Her comms cut out. 

Oliver presses harder, presses so hard on his ear he draws blood. “Barry! Get to the bunker! Felicity… she’s…” 

The words are coming in harsh pants like he’s just been kicked in the gut. He hears Dig’s voice belatedly signal Lyla to get back to the bunker over the comms. 

It doesn’t matter. It’s too late. They’re too late. He knows they’re too late. 

“ _ Please _ …” He begs, and he doesn’t know if he’s asking Barry, Dig, Thanatos or someone else entirely. He doesn’t know what he’s saying. 

The remainder of the team rushes inside, sensing the commotion. He wants to yell at them but he can’t form words.  _ You’re too late _ , he wants to scream.  _ Don’t you see? Don’t you see you’re too late?  _

Thanatos laughs. He  _ laughs. _

“You vigilantes are so concerned about what is in front of you -- see, a locked door for example -- you fail to see what is right under your nose. Or, more accurately, your  _ feet. _ ” 

Oliver feels bile in his throat. 

Static fills his ears again. And then a voice. 

“Oliver! I can’t--” Static. “--out. Ella--- trapped---” 

He doesn’t need to hear more. He isn’t going to be sick. He is going to die. 

“Baby,  _ please _ …” he begs. Pleads. Screams. 

“Oliver-- I love--” 

“Felicity…” He can’t get words out, like he’s thrashing under water trying not to drown. He remembers feeling this way when the Gambit sunk. Is he drowning? 

“ _ Oliver! _ ” 

But he hears the desperate pleading in his name, clear as day. He’ll hear it every day for the rest of his life. 

And for the rest of his life, Oliver will debate what he heard first. 

The static. Or the explosion. 

Then he hears nothing. 

&&&&

Memories come back to him from that day in bits and pieces, like trying to connect a puzzle where all the end pieces are missing. 

He can remember the roar of the explosion reverberating through his ear drums, like he were right next door and not miles away. He can hear sobbing, but he doesn’t know who it comes from. 

He can hear screaming, but he’s pretty sure it was his own. 

Everything else he knows about the aftermath is what people have told him happened. He assumes it’s true. 

Seconds after, Barry zoomed back into the bank, with debris on his suit and haunted eyes. 

“I-I wasn’t… I wasn’t fast enough…” 

Dinah had let out her sonic scream, a mixture of pure rage and agony, knocking Thanatos to the ground. 

Sara, apparently, had stabbed three of Thanatos men through the chest in quick succession, not even stopping to breathe. 

Rene cleared a path for himself lined with bodies, shooting anyone that came too close. 

Roy grabbed a sobbing Thea from the ground before one of Thanatos men could shoot her -- he lifted her up and sprinted towards the exit. He saved her life, and for that Oliver is grateful. 

And Dig -- Dig saved Oliver’s life (or so he’s told.) 

Oliver remembers sinking to the ground, waiting for it to swallow him whole. Praying that it would devour him completely, and free him of this burden of breathing which suddenly seemed impossible. Dig had yanked him up, slung his arm over his shoulder and practically carried him to the van. Oliver doesn’t remember if he had been belligerent. If he went kicking and screaming or if he made it easier on his friend. He supposes it doesn’t matter. 

Dig saved him, forcing him to live anyway.

&&&&

Time passes weirdly for Oliver after that day. 

Sometimes fast -- sometimes he loses days altogether, they seep through his fingers like grains of sand, tiny and insignificant and all nearly identical. Sometimes mind-numbingly slow, so slow he counts the seconds, counts backwards from the time it is now to that night, that night everything ended and nothing began in its place. 

He wishes time would stop altogether. 

They try to reach him, his friends, his family but he imagines it’s like talking to cardboard. Actually, cardboard might have something more interesting to say. 

Oliver is broken; a broken clock that can only count backwards but not move forward. 

He knows he should. Down in the depths of his mind, the part that can think logically rather than emotionally, he knows that’s what his girls would want. Some mornings he wakes up slowly, slowly enough that his brain hasn’t caught up to his heart yet and it’s like they’re still there. 

He can feel Ella like she’s in bed next to him, waking him up with butterfly kisses in a way only a two year old can and he can smell Felicity’s perfume like she’s only a room away, making coffee before he wakes up. 

He feels it so vividly that it almost startles him, rattles his heart when he walks through his house and sees it’s still empty. 

It doesn’t make it hurt less. 

&&&&

After the funeral (they combine Felicity and Ella’s into one, something he both understands and hates) he doesn’t get out of bed for twelve days. 

He thinks he uses the bathroom, and he must eat at some point because when he wakes up he isn’t on the verge of death. 

He finally gets up because he can’t stand the thought anymore -- can’t stand the thought that Thanatos is out there living when his wife and daughter are not. 

So he goes to the bunker -- or the crumbled shards that are left of it, anyway -- puts on his suit but forgets his mask, ironically. He drives to city hall, climbs to the roof until he has a good vantage point and then shoots three of Thanatos men, all at once, without blinking. It’s scary how easily this comes to him, how quickly he can revert to the monster he had tried so hard to leave behind. 

It doesn’t feel wrong. But it doesn’t feel right either. It doesn’t feel like anything at all besides vengeance. 

If the team sees what the kind of homicidal mission he’s on, they don’t say anything. Maybe they secretly agree with his methods or maybe they just don’t care anymore, just like him.

He shoots more of his men, every night, and makes sure to leave their bodies somewhere public where Thanatos is sure to see them. 

Until, finally, after one week Thanatos is there to meet him on the rooftop of city hall. 

“Mr. Green Arrow. I admit, I didn’t think we’d be seeing each other again under these circumstances.” 

Oliver doesn’t speak or move. He’s frozen, but it’s not out of fear. 

“I was sorry to hear about your wife and daughter’s… passing. Although I did hear they went out with a bang.” 

And that’s it. He takes out his bow faster than he can blink and fires 6 arrows, point blank into his chest. 

He wishes he could say the force was enough to send Thanatos off the roof, but it was not nearly that climatic. Instead, he topples over unceremoniously, blood pooling around his limp body. 

Oliver walks closer to inspect the body, bow still grasped tightly in his hand. 

He’s dead. 

Oliver wishes he felt relief, or something close to it but the truth is he doesn’t feel anything at all. 

He goes back to what used to be the bunker, lights a fire and throws his hood inside it. 

&&&&&

He doesn’t go out much after that. 

Sometimes people visit him, and sometimes it makes him feel better. Mainly it makes him feel worse.

A few months after, Curtis took over Felicity’s role at Smoak Technologies. He finds it ironic, since Felicity always told Oliver she would never share her responsibilities with Curtis, but he figures taking control of the company is more about Curtis nurturing his own brand of guilt and honoring Felicity’s memory so he lets him have it. 

In Curtis defense, he does open a foundation in Felicity’s name called Young Tech Nerds of America, to help low income kids with an interest in computer sciences gain access to technology. The name doesn’t mean much to Oliver, but he knows it would have made Felicity laugh. 

Quentin comes and visits him. Not often, but often enough that Oliver considers him a regular in his life. Not as regular as Thea and Dig (and William, when he feels like leaving Gotham City to visit his dead man walking father) but regular enough. 

One morning when he stops in he invites Oliver to city hall, where Quentin is now mayor. The city isn’t as run down as it was under Thanatos rule, but it’ll never be what it once was. Not to Oliver, at least. 

Oliver has nothing better to do so he agrees, and he regrets it as soon as he walks in the building. 

It’s clearly no ordinary day at city hall, and he notices a large ceremony ribbon that Oliver knows signifies the dedication of something. He looks around, a sees a picture of the face he spends most of his days actively trying not to picture. 

Oliver feels sick. 

Quentin claps him on the back, right before he can make a run for it. “I know I didn’t warn ya, and I’m sorry about that, but Thea didn’t think you’d come if I told ya.”

“What is this, Quentin?” 

“It’s been in the works for a few months but we just got it approved. The new wing of city hall, it’s for computer engineering and technology. We’re naming it Smoak Hall.” 

Quentin steers him down a hallway he thinks he recognizes from his mayoral days until they stop in front of one he doesn’t recognize. On one of the walls is a black engraved plaque with the words _In Loving Memory_ and -- there she is. 

Her picture -- one of her old ones, from when she first started the company and before Ella was born  -- smiles back at him and Oliver suddenly forgets how to breathe.

That’s why he doesn’t keep pictures of her up in their house anymore. He would never remember to breathe. 

She’s beautiful, and breathtaking and everything that Oliver loves and will never see again. 

He hates it. 

“This won’t bring her back, Quentin,” Oliver snaps. “You of all people should know that.” 

This has become a pattern, since it happened. People approaching him on the street, in grocery stores, anywhere -- telling him all the good his wife had done for the city, all she had accomplished in her short life, how her memory would live on. 

It made Oliver want to scream _ I know she’s a hero, goddammit! But I would rather her be alive than be a hero.  _

“Nothing’s going to bring her back, bud,” Quentin responds. “And I know -- _ I know  _ the grief you’re goin’ through has you so tied up in knots you can’t even think straight. And you feel like this,” he gestures to her picture, “doesn’t really matter. Because you’re right. It won’t bring her back.” 

Oliver looks down, ice filling his veins. 

“But one day, once this fog of grief has lifted, you’ll realize it does. All these pieces of her, honoring her, spread out through the city? They  _ matter. _ ” 

Oliver feels like his throat is made of sandpaper, so he just looks at Quentin and nods. 

&&&&&

On particularly bad days, he visits their grave. 

It’s often -- not as often as he should -- because Oliver can’t stomach it more than a few times. Seeing their names carved into stone -- the same name written on his marriage certificate and the same name he signed into existence in a hospital room 2 and a half years ago -- makes his insides burn in a way he’s never experienced. 

Pain isn’t the right word for it. He just _ burns.  _

On what would have been Felicity’s 34th birthday, he drives to her grave to bring her flowers. 

When he arrives though, someone is already sitting in front of it. It irritates him, irrationally. This is  _ his _ wife. Why should he have to wait to see her? 

When he gets close enough to see who it is, he stops. 

It’s Thea. 

He can see her tiny shoulders moving, and he stealthily creeps closer so as to not disturb her until he can make out what she’s saying.

“It can’t be this way… it can’t be this way forever, can it? Roy keeps telling me grief takes time, that everyone processes it differently, that he’s already been through so much so who knows how long he’ll grieve. But it’s just… I miss my brother.” 

Oliver’s heart constricts in his chest.

“I know he’ll never be the same. I  _ know _ that.  You don’t lose the two most important people in your life and not change forever because of it. But it’s just… it’s  _ so _ bad, Felicity. It’s like he can’t function. He doesn’t go out, he doesn’t smile, he doesn’t laugh. I haven’t even seen him hold a bow since… since…” 

She stops them, lets out a shuddering sob. 

“It’s just so ironic. Because the only person who could reason with him, who could talk him out of a funk like this is you.” She does this sad little hiccup laugh then, wiping her eyes. 

“You were so good with him. So good together. You always knew exactly what to say to him and exactly how to say it. I guess that’s why you guys were soulmates and all that. Without you, it’s just… a part of him is missing. And it’s the part of him that feels and laughs and  _ lives. _ He never wants to talk about you, or Ella… I guess because it’s too painful? I can understand that. But… but… he’s not the only one who misses you. We  _ all _ miss you. Sometimes it feels like too much…” 

She’s still crying, that much Oliver can tell from her voice, and he doesn’t realize he is too until the tears cascade off his chin on to his shirt. 

“Roy and I still hit the streets sometimes. I don’t know who we’re looking for, maybe we’re just looking for someone to punch. That’s what  _ I’m _ looking for sometimes. But we’re the only ones still out there. Oliver won’t come near a hood ever again, I don’t think, and Dig won’t touch his suit. He says his mission with the city is over, and now he’s just taking care of his family. I don’t know if you knew this, but you were kinda the glue holding the team together. Without you it just… It fell apart.” 

Oliver’s ears perk up at the Dig comment. He didn’t know he had hung up his suit. Actually, he doesn’t know much about what Dig is doing at all. When was the last time he really had a conversation with him?

“I’m so sorry, Felicity. I’m sorry none of us were smart enough that night to know his plan and I’m sorry we weren’t fast enough. You’ve never failed us so we shouldn’t have failed you.” 

And there it is. There’s the blunt truth that keeps Oliver up at night. 

_ He failed his family.  _

Oliver sucks in a rattling breath, blinking past the tears in his eyes. He carefully sets the flowers he’d brought on the ground, several feet behind where Thea is sitting. He doesn’t know if she’ll see them, or if she’ll know who they’re from, but he doesn’t care. 

A pretty bouquet won’t bring his wife back. He was stupid to bring them in the first place. 

&&&&&

The next few weeks pass in a blur and Oliver doesn’t realize he forgot his own birthday until Dig shows up one day, holding a card and a piece of cake. 

He recognizes the logo as Felicity’s favorite bakery. They’d gone out of business when Star City’s economy tanked during Thanatos reign, but he’d heard they recently opened up a new location downtown. 

Images of his birthday last year -- when his life was wonderful and perfect and full -- flash through his mind, knocking the wind out of him. Ella had woken him up with 13 birthday kisses -- as high as she could count -- and Felicity had made him breakfast in bed and they’d spent the whole morning together, curled up in bed. Oliver didn’t know that kind of peace existed in this cruel world. 

As it turns out, nothing peaceful lasts. 

“What are you doing here, John?” 

Normally Oliver can keep it together, wear the mask of someone who still has a beating heart, but today isn’t one of those days. 

John, knowing Oliver, takes his crudeness in stride. 

“Hello to you too. Happy birthday, Oliver.” He shuffles around him, walking through the door with a sigh.  It’s funny; Oliver doesn’t remember inviting him inside. 

“I don’t feel like celebrating, John. I appreciate the effort but I’d rather you go home.” 

John looks around the house, a look of mild disgust written on his face. “You call this a house, Oliver? It’s a pigsty. I think Sara keeps her room more clean than this.” 

Oliver surveys his surroundings, trying to see it through fresh eyes. He guesses the Chinese takeaway containers, the piles of unfolded laundry and the empty bottles of whiskey scattered throughout the room might not be appealing to some. He hadn’t noticed. He hadn’t  _ cared,  _ really.

“Did you come here to lecture me? I get enough of that shit with Thea.” 

“Thea’s worried about you.” 

“The line forms behind her. Everyone is worried about me, apparently, but I’m still standing here alive and breathing so I must be fine.” 

John gives Oliver a look he knows all too well, and he knows he isn’t fooled by Oliver’s cold facade for a second. 

“You and I both know you’re light years away from fine, Oliver. And that’s okay. It’s barely been a year since it happened. No one expects you to be okay. Hell,  _ I’m _ not even okay. But one day you’ll get there.”

And for some reason, the thought of  _ someday _ , the sheer audacity that John would come to his house on Oliver’s birthday no less and speak about a future in a way that’s vaguely optimistic makes him furious. 

Oliver doesn’t want to be okay. He doesn’t want to celebrate new birthdays, each year moving farther and farther away from his girls until they are a hazy memory. Until he can’t remember if the pancakes Felicity made him were blueberry or chocolate chip, or if the shirt Ella was wearing had princesses or astronauts. 

He doesn’t want to move forward in time if his family can’t move with him. 

“Don’t.” 

John sighs. “Oliver, you’re not moving forward. You’re not moving backwards. You’re not moving at all. At first, I thought I needed to give you space and time to grieve in your own way. No one can know the kind of pain you’re going through man, but you have to at least try to cope. You owe it to yourself. You owe it to Felicity. This isn’t what she would have wanted…” 

“You don’t know  _ shit  _ about what she would have wanted, John!” Oliver erupts, like a volcano that was just waiting for someone to get close enough before exploding to claim its victims. He has already burned everything in his life to the ground -- his job, his home, the hood -- so why not obliterate everything completely.

“I know they wouldn’t have wanted you to slowly kill yourself like this, Oliver! You live in filth, you barely eat or sleep. By the looks of it the only thing you’re taking in on a regular basis is alcohol.” 

Oliver face reddens in shame. John’s not wrong. 

“Is this what you would have wanted for them if the situation was reversed? Would you want them to stop living because of you?” 

_ Dammit  _ \-- he wishes John were a worse friend because if he were he wouldn’t be standing in front of him right now telling him a truth Oliver’s been trying to avoid. 

“You’re a good man, Oliver. One of the best I’ve ever known. You kept the team together for years. You never let us fall into darkness, never let  _ me _ fall into darkness no matter how badly I wanted to. You always kept going because you had a light inside of you. It’s what let me know you were a good man with a good moral compass all those years ago. It’s what made you a great leader… It’s what drew Felicity to you. It’s what made you a great father.”

The words feel like being pushed down a flight of stairs and every bone in his body breaks as he hits the bottom. 

“I can’t pretend to know what this past year has been like for you. I know it’s been hell for me.” John lets the words escape and runs a hand through his hair -- or what’s left of it. He’s almost completely bald now. When did that happen? 

Oliver looks at his friend.  _ Really  _ looks at him. He’s right -- he does look like hell. 

Dark bags encase his eyes and there are more wrinkles in his forehead than Oliver remembers. Exhaustion seeps from every pore on his face and for the first time Oliver realizes maybe he wasn’t the only one having the worst year of his life. 

He isn’t the only one grieving his wife and daughter -- his friends are too. It suddenly occurs to him that’s probably why Dinah left the police force, why Rene and Zoe moved away months after it happened, why William never calls anymore. 

They’re grieving. They’re in pain. 

God, he’s so selfish. How could he have not seen? How was he so wrapped up in his own sorrows he failed to see anyone else’s? 

John is right. Felicity would be ashamed of him. 

&&&&&

The idea -- sick and twisted and everything he is now -- pops into his head late one night, halfway through a bottle of Jack Daniels. It seems preposterous at first, just a fleeting thought, a byproduct of guilt and misery… until it’s not. It sits atop his brain like a tumor, eating away at all rational thought and that’s it. 

That’s it, that’s his plan, that’s the only thing his one-track mind can think of until he executes it. 

This is how he atones for his mistakes, this is how he saves his family.

He needs to kill himself. ‘

It’s such an obvious answer, one that had creeped into his mind before during lonely days on Lian Yu, and it’s so not shocking it’s almost cliche. 

But as much as Oliver hates himself, hates his life now, he can’t allow William to lose any more family. Or Thea. At least not now. 

At least not  _ now.  _

Oliver calls Barry. 

He hasn’t seen his old friend much, not since the day of the funeral when Oliver had lashed out at him after Barry refused to go back in time to stop it from happening. He’d used big words, like ‘temporal backlash’ and ‘unknown quantities’ but it was all meaningless to Oliver if it meant he couldn’t get his family back. Oliver would never forgive him for that. 

So it says a lot about his mental state, he supposes, that he proposes such a plan over the phone with no small talk beforehand. No,  _ ‘hi, how are you doing’ _ or ‘ _ man it’s been a while’ _ or ‘ _ hey remember the time we fought aliens and almost died’.  _

All Oliver says is: “I need you to take me back in time so I can kill myself.” 

Silence. 

Barry coughs, sputters, and asks him to repeat himself. 

Oliver does, slowly this time, so Barry can know he’s 100% serious and completely lucid. 

“I… Oliver… No! What are you talking about?” 

“I need to go back in time. So I can kill myself before Felicity ever meets me, or before anyone ever meets me. So I can spare everyone the pain.” 

Barry sighs, long and drawn out. “I’m on my way.” 

A flash of red lights darts into his house. Barry’s stares at him, looking panicky.  

“Oliver! What… what’s going on? You don’t sound good.” 

Oliver rolls his eyes.  _ Of course I’m not good, Barry,  _ he wants to say. _ Look at me.  _

“I’m trying to figure out a solution, Barry. I can’t move forwards and I can’t go backwards, or so you’ve said,” he glares. “So all I can do at this point is go back and make sure she never crosses paths with me. Because she can’t. I’ll be dead.” 

He’s repeated this plan to himself so many times, mentally unfolding it like a piece of paper that the idea of death doesn’t shock or scare him anymore. It just makes him ancy. 

Barry approaches him slowly, like he would a spooked animal. He probably thinks he’s crazy, Oliver assumes. _ Barry, if only you could see inside my head. I’m the clearest I’ve been in a year.  _

“We can’t do that, Oliver. We can’t just go back in time and… kill you.” 

“Why not?” 

“Because it’s not that simple! So we go back in time and kill you, okay… well what about all the other people you saved since coming back to Star City? What about all the people you saved as Green Arrow? If you die, who stops the Undertaking and Slade and Adrian Chase? It has to be you, Oliver.” 

Oliver presses his palms into his eyes, trying to burn out the memory of all the lives he’s saved. All the good he’s done. If he could just forget, he wouldn’t feel so guilty if it all gets undone.

“Going back in time and killing you could have catastrophic consequences. It could mean the deaths of tens of thousands of people. Maybe more. Can you live with that on your conscience?”

“Well, I’ll be dead,” he points out. Not untrue. 

“Oliver…” Barry sighs, exasperated.  _ “I  _ can’t live with that on my conscience. No way will I help you with that.”

Oliver throws his hands up in the air, desperate. “Then… then just take me back before I meet her! I’ll make sure I never walk into her office and I never bring her a bullet-ridden laptop and we never fall in love. She’ll never have to know I exist. Her life will be normal… she’ll be safe.” 

Barry winces. “That’s not so simple, either. Stuff like you and Felicity, it’s… complicated.”

“Uncomplicate it for me, Barry.” 

“The trajectory of your relationship… it was unorthodox, right?” 

Oliver furrows his brow. “I’m not following.” 

“I mean -- just --” Barry stammers, looking into the space behind Oliver’s head as if it might be hiding his words. “You and Felicity. There were a lot of roadblocks in your way, a lot of challenges you faced before you were together. Like together forever, right? First there was the Laurel thing, then the Sara thing, then the emotional constipation thing -- Felicity’s words, not mine -- then the lie about William then the -- wait, was there a  _ ‘me’  _ thing? Was I a…” 

Barry stops mid-sentence, noticing Oliver’s hardened glare. He’s not in the mood for one of Barry’s off-topic rambles. 

Especially not when they remind him so much of Felicity. 

“I just mean -- it took a lot for you two to finally be together. More than most couples go through in a lifetime.” 

“What’s your point?”

“Look, I’m a scientist. I’m not an expert on fate or destiny or how love plays into the time-space continuum but… you guys. You were special. You guys found each other, again and again, no matter what life threw at you. That’s extraordinary.” 

“I don’t need you to tell me how special my relationship with Felicity is, Barry.” 

“My point is… going back in time to ensure you never meet her? That’s not exactly how it works. If our current timeline proves anything, it’s that you and Felicity will find each other. No matter what changes occur in the timeline.” 

“So what are you saying? Felicity and I are destined to be together?” That revelation fills him with warmth he hasn’t felt in ages but also makes him irrationally angry. Why can’t his plans work out for once? 

“Like I said, I’m a man of science. I don’t know how destiny or fate or all that stuff works -- if it’s even true. All I know is how time works, and sometimes time is like a rubber band that just snaps back to its original plan if you try to disrupt its course.” 

“So even if I go back and stop our original meeting, Felicity and I will just meet some other way eventually?”

“Most likely, yes. It could be two months later or two years later. It’s like alternating routes on a map. All those routes will get you to your final destination, it’s just a matter of how and when.” 

“So Felicity’s life is always destined for mine.” 

“I think so, yes.” 

“So she’s… destined for death. And I am  _ powerless _ to stop it.” His voice catches, his throat closing up. 

Barry looks at him in pity -- god, he is so  _ tired _ of people’s pity -- and puts a hand on his shoulder. 

“I’m not saying I’m a time expert. I don’t know everything. But I’ve traveled enough and messed things up enough times for myself that I know going back to change things, when you still might end up with the same outcome in a different way? It’s going to do more evil than good.”

In a perfect world, one filled with sunshine and rainbows and a heart that still works in his chest, this would have been the end of his quest. He would have heard Barry’s warnings and realized that although his motivations were pure, his plan was anything but. 

In a perfect world where he’s a stronger man, not broken in every place but one, he would have sent Barry home and tried to erase this day from his memory. He would have called William, Thea, Dig --  _ anyone _ that could talk some rational thoughts into his head.

But it’s not a perfect world. It’s sick and twisted and takes everything from you. It’s taken everything from Oliver -- ripped him apart to his very core until there’s nothing left. Nothing but pain and one crazy thought -- so crazy he can’t believe he’d even imagined it, can’t believe it until the words are tumbling from his mouth. 

“What if Felicity never met me… because  _ she  _ couldn’t?”

“What?”

Oliver takes a deep breath, hating himself even more than he thought possible. “What if Felicity was gone before I ever came back from the island?”

“I’m still not following, Oliver.” 

God, he’s going to make him say it. 

“ What if Felicity was dead before she ever had the chance to meet me?”

A thousand and one expressions pass over Barry’s face, all a mixture of horror and disbelief. He’s been looked at that way before. It always makes him feel like a monster. 

“You can’t be serious, Oliver.” 

“I’m out of options here, Barry!” He explodes. “You tell me I can’t go back in time to save her that night. I can’t go back in time and kill myself before anything happens. I can’t go back and stop us from meeting - what  _ can I _ do, Barry?”

The question is rhetorical, but the desperation behind his plea is real.  _ What can I do? I’ll do anything to bring her back. Anything anything anything.  _

“What can you do?! Leave the damn timeline alone, Oliver! Live your life _ now. _ ” 

“I can’t!” 

“Yes you--” 

“I can’t! I  _ can’t _ , Barry.” 

Something in his face must strike a chord with Barry because he closes his mouth and starts again. “I know what it’s like to lose people, man. I know--” 

“You don’t know. You  _ don’t. _ I know you think you do, because I’ve lost people too and dealt with grief before but this is…” His voice stops, tears clogging his throat. The swell of tears feels unfamiliar to him. He can’t remember the last time he’d let himself cry. “Living without them? Waking up and knowing I won’t see them again? I’m in _ hell _ , Barry.” 

Barry flinches, almost like Oliver’s desperation is causing him physical pain. He doesn’t care. Now that the floodgates have opened he can’t close them. 

“I wake up every morning and… for a moment, I forget. I forget that I lost them. I think that I’ll get out of bed and Ella will be in her room coloring and Felicity will laying next to me and I can’t… When I realize it’s not real, I can’t breathe. I can’t move. I’m paralyzed, just praying that somehow I’m wrong. But I never am.” He’s crying in earnest now, and he doesn’t even feel ashamed. He doesn’t feel anything at all. 

“I lost them. My baby girl, the person I was supposed to protect before my own life, and Felicity… I lost  _ Felicity _ …” He says her name like it’s its own category of loss. To him, it is. 

Barry’s eyes snap close like he’s in pain. 

“I’m the reason they’re gone.” 

“It’s not your fault, Oliver.”

If Oliver had a nickel for every time he heard that phrase… for every time he heard that phrase and it was actually true. 

“Even if it’s not my fault. It’s my responsibility.” 

“Responsibility to do what?”

“To stop this before it begins. To save Felicity from my darkness.”

Barry looks at him like he’s grown three heads. Maybe he has. “Save her by killing her?! That makes no sense!” 

The words -- the sheer thought -- makes him feel nauseous but he continues. He’s too far gone now. 

“Save her by making sure her life is never corrupted by my darkness. She can live a happy, normal life and… be gone before she ever has to become a part of my life. Before she has to deal with the pain and loss that follows me.” He pauses. “Before any of you do.” 

“Oliver, what makes you think Felicity wasn’t happy being a part of your world? If I remember correctly, she actually fought pretty damn hard to be with you. She wasn’t dragged into it. She wanted to be here.” 

“Those choices led to her death anyway, Barry! And so much pain and suffering along the way. She went through  _ so _ much. She didn’t deserve that. She’s so good--” Tears encompass him once again and he has to stop. He has to stop thinking about her or else he’ll never stop crying. 

“If I can’t save her either way, why make her suffer through all the pain of being in my life? Why do that to her?” 

Barry looks at him like he’s finally seeing him for what he truly is -- a tired, broken man with nothing to live for. 

“Oliver, listen to me. I know how much you loved her. How much you loved them. But Felicity loved you too. She made her choice to be with you, and she has a right to it. I don’t think she would have done anything differently, even if it meant--”

Oliver’s eyes flash with red hot rage. “Even if it meant her and my two year old daughter being blown up by a psychopath? Even if it meant her spending her last moments alone and terrified, probably trying her hardest to comfort our daughter? You think she still would have made the same choices then, Barry?! I sure as hell don’t.” 

Barry’s quiet for a long while, and Oliver kind of hopes he’ll just turn around and leave. Leave Oliver alone with his thoughts, his terrible terrible thoughts. Let him turn into a monster in peace. 

“I’m sorry I wasn’t fast enough that night,” Barry says, in the saddest voice he’s ever heard from him. 

The vulnerability and gear-switch disables him, but he ignores it. 

“I know you’re not going to help me, Barry. And I guess I can’t blame you for that. But I can’t live like this anymore. I need to fix it.” 

Oliver walks past Barry, opening the door for him to leave. It’s not polite, or particularly nice, but Oliver is done with cordiality. 

“You’re not this guy, Oliver. You’re not a monster.” 

His whole body tenses, the words knocking the wind out of him like he’s been punched.  _ Not a monster? _ He wants to yell, scream, laugh.  _ If only you knew.  _

_ I’ve been a monster this whole time.  _

Oliver closes the door on Barry without another word. 

&&&&&&

When Oliver gets home that night he opens up the box he keeps at the top of his closet, above his old suits he used to wear to city hall every day. He hasn’t put one on since the funeral. 

It’s a box he kept in case of emergency -- a little voice that sounded like Felicity nagging him to not throw this stuff away -- and he hasn’t touched it since. It’s full to the brim with things from Team Arrow -- fake passports, files on criminals, the list of names his father gave him all those years ago. 

Everything Oliver didn’t know he would need again but couldn’t throw away. 

Tucked carefully inside is a piece of paper with an address written on it in black ink. It’s so obviously Felicity’s handwriting, and the irony of that is not lost on him. 

It’s Floyd Lawton’s address. 

Years ago, they had received word from Lyla that he wasn’t as dead as they had assumed. So far, he hadn’t caused much trouble but Oliver knew from surveillance footage Lawton was back in rundown Star City. 

He was his last hope. 

Oliver could somehow gain access to the Waverider he knew -- by brute force, if necessary but he’s hoping he can slyly persuade Sara in to lending it to him if he doesn’t tell her who is using it or what for. 

Sara feels guilt over Felicity’s death, too. And sometimes guilt is a great motivator. 

He sends the letter to Lawton’s address the next day, asking to meet him in the back alley behind what used to be Verdant.

To Oliver’s surprise, dread and luck, he shows up. 

Lawton looks the same but entirely different. His hair is swept over with gray, his face littered with wrinkles, his eyes hold secrets Oliver doesn’t want to know.

Oliver would recognize him anywhere. 

Dead man don’t age. He should know. He’s one of them. 

Despite being the one to draw him here, Oliver masks himself in the shadows. Even as a dead man, Oliver is a coward. 

He takes a breath and lets his voice echo into the night. 

“Deadshot. Did you receive my message?”

&&&

Oliver gets home that night and throws up. 

He throws up so much he thinks his stomach is leaving his body, it’s like his organs can see what a monster he is and are trying to claw their way out. 

He sits in his bathroom in silence for what feels like an eternity. 

The saying, again, forces its way into his mind, leaving him breathless and shaky. He’s thought it so many times over the past two years, but it’s never etched into his soul like it does now. 

_ Hell is empty and all the devils are here. _

**It’s true, now he knows. He just didn’t realize _he_ was the devil.  **


	7. Chapter 7

“So you’re just going to leave? Right after dropping that bomb on us? Are you  _ kidding  _ me, Barry?” 

The world stops spinning long enough for Felicity to register Dig’s frustrated voice. 

“I’ve already been here too long and said too much. The longer I’m in this time the more chance I can screw something up. I’m sorry, you guys. My only reason for coming here was to warn you guys about Deadshot being after Felicity. He came back to the wrong time, and I know it was way later than Oliver ever intended. Hurting Felicity now will irrevocably change the future for all of us, not just Oliver. I mean, not that I wouldn’t come back to save Felicity anyway…” 

Felicity nods numbly, the things he’s told them settling into her bloodstream and making her feel hot and cold all over. 

“Okay, Barry. You’ve done your part,” she says, surprising everyone including herself. “Go home.” 

“Really, Felicity?” Oliver looks at her incredulously. 

“The longer he stays, the more he can affect the timeline.” She shrugs helplessly. “We’ve just received like… the worst news ever. I honestly don’t think I can take any more revelations.” 

“Thank you for understanding, Felicity. And… I’m sorry.” 

She doesn't have anything to say to that. She knows he’s sorry; she’s sorry too. She’s sorry he traveled back in time just to give her the worst news of her life and she’s sorry Floyd Lawton is trying to kill her and she’s sorry for the haunted look in Oliver’s eyes that won’t go away and she’s sorry that any of this ever became Barry’s responsibility and she’s sorry she’s sorry she’s sorry. 

They can all force out apologies until they’re blue in the face, but it can’t change what’s happened -- or, what _ will _ happen. 

Barry looks to Dig and Oliver who give him a short nod of acknowledgement. He knows that’s the warmest goodbye he will get. When you come back in time as basically the Time Traveling Grim Reaper, you can’t expect too much. 

With that, a whiz of red flashes before her eyes and all that’s left is the three of them, standing in the bunker that once felt like home to Felicity, but now feels cold and empty and no comfort at all.

They exchange weary glances. 

So this is new. 

Felicity has learnt to expect the impossible since joining Team Arrow, but their friend traveling back in time from the not-so-distant future to tell her she’s on limited time and there’s a psycho from that same future trying to end her even _sooner_ isn’t something she’s equipped to handle. Like at _all._   
  
But Felicity isn’t the kind of girl who hides in the corner and waits for the danger to pass. She’s going to confront it. Head on. 

Dig breaks the silence first. 

“I gotta say, of all the crazy theories I’ve heard over the past six years, that’s got to be the winner.” 

“It’s not really a theory if it’s been proven to be true,” she responds.

Dig frowns. “Don’t let him get in your head, Felicity.”

She rolls her eyes — like there’s any possibility of _ that  _ not happening.

“Barry said Deadshot came back to the wrong time, not the time you- well, older you intended.. So there must be something significant about this time for him to come back to it specifically, either something he wants to stop from occurring or make sure occurs. Once we find out what that is we can maybe figure out what his next move is.”

She looks to Oliver, hoping for any spark of support, maybe even a plan of his own, but he just stands there with his arms crossed, staring at the ground like he wants it to open up and swallow him whole. 

Can it swallow her too?

She shakes the thoughts from her head -- no time to dwell on any of that now. She has a murderer to catch. 

She types and types and types -- computers, the only constant in her life -- until her fingers start to cramp and her wrists ache. Her computers are in the middle of a search for potential methods of transportation Deadshot could be using when Dig clears his throat. 

“I think I am going to head out. I’ll check and see what Lyla found on Lawton.” Dig stands and grabs his coat, pausing briefly to put a heavy hand on Oliver’s shoulder as he leaves. “We’ll figure this out, man. I promise.” He tells him in a quietly firm voice. Felicity thinks she’s probably not supposed to overhear that. 

She’s a little bit surprised, and maybe a little bit peeved, that Dig wants to ditch them so early but then she checks her phone and looks at the time  - 8:05 pm. Damn. Has she really been at this for six hours straight? 

And glimpsing at her hectic workspace, with little to no success. 

She sighs heavily, standing up and feeling the ache in her legs. 

Her eyes scan the room for her brooding boyfriend and she finds him exactly where she expects -- hunched over one of the med tables, sharpening arrows. His shoulders are unmeasurably tense she can tell by the way his movements are mechanic that his mind is a million miles away. 

“Oliver, don’t do this.” 

He startles at her voice, then turns to her quizzically. “Sharpen my arrows?” 

A small laugh escapes her at his obvious response. She loves this man. 

“No. This,” She approaches his side and grabs the arrow from his hands, placing it on the table and interlocking their fingers. She needs to feel a connection right now -- she _needs_ to touch him. “This brooding, pent-up thing you do when you feel backed into a corner. You’ve evolved so far past this, honey.” 

“I think our friend coming back from the future to tell us I turn into the very kind of monster I’ve spent the past years trying to destroy is a good time to bring it back.”

“You’re wrong. I think Barry telling us we live in some weird, dystopian world in the future is more reason for us to fight _ back, _ Oliver. We need to have hope.” 

His eyes shift, clearly not agreeing with her but not wanting to push it. He looks drained -- mentally and physically -- and she can’t say she’s any different. 

Time travel really takes it out of you, even if you're not the one doing said time traveling. 

“I still think we should draw Deadshot out tomorrow.”

She winces, bracing for the impact her words will have. She knows Oliver will hate the plan he already hated before even more now, and she doesn’t feel like having the same argument. Again. 

His nostrils flare and his shoulders tense even more -- seriously, he is going to need a massage later -- but to his credit he doesn’t answer immediately. 

“No.” 

“Why, Oliver? What’s changed?” 

Now he looks at her like she’s grown three heads and exclaims, “everything! Everything has changed, Felicity. What-”

“Everything about our future, yes. But nothing has changed involving Deadshot or what we do know about his plans which is a whole lot of  _ nothing _ . If we want any chance of stopping him, we have to know what his game plan is -- well, ya know, besides  _ me _ \-- before he does anything. This is our only shot.” 

“It’s not. We can take some time, lay low for a bit and once have more intel we can--” 

“What intel? From who? Because if memory serves, the only person who had any sort of intel on Deadshot just took a very fast jog into the  _ future, _ Oliver. Barry’s not coming back. That was our only insight, now it’s up to us.”

“I don’t believe that.” 

She drops his hand, shaking with frustration because if there’s one thing she feels like she has a grasp on right now it’s stopping Deadshot. The future that is apparently so bad Oliver goes all homicidal maniac on her? She has no idea how to handle that. But tracking down bad guys? It’s what she does. It’s in her comfort zone. She  _ needs  _ this distraction -- now more than ever. 

“So… we hide out and just wait? For how long? Floyd Lawton is a trained assassin, Oliver. Something tells me he’s not just gonna pop up on one of our surveillance searches grabbing a cup of coffee at Java Junkies. He’s going to be off the radar until there’s reason for him to come out -- that’s me.  _ I’m  _ the reason.” 

“You don’t have to be. We can find another way. It doesn’t always have to be your life on the line.” 

“It’s barely  _ ever _ my life on the line, Oliver. It’s always yours or Dig’s or the rest of the team. I’m always behind a computer and that’s -- that’s good. That’s what I’m  _ good  _ at. I’m there because that’s where I can be the most use. But now? To catch Deadshot, I’m most useful out there.”

His fingers fidget the way they always do when he wants to fight someone or run. It’s his one tell -- he’s feeling trapped.  _ Join the club _ . 

She moves so they’re face to face, only inches apart, breathing the same air. Her fingers gently rub his jaw, in a way she knows soothes him. 

“And right now? I need to feel useful. After everything today I don’t think I’ve ever felt less control over my life than I do right now. I can’t control the future and neither can you. But we can control how we handle this.” 

She blinks back tears but doesn’t break eye contact. His blue eyes hold so much turmoil that she wants to kiss away but she can’t -- she can’t even fix the turmoil in her own heart. 

“I can’t lose you.” 

His words are a soft whisper against her lips -- if she wasn’t so close to him she would have missed them.

“You aren’t going to lose me,” she says, holding him tighter. 

A choked laugh escapes him. “Tell that to time.” 

“Time doesn’t know everything,” she implores, shaking her head. “Things change all the time, Oliver. No one can tell us what the future holds. Not even Barry.” 

He stares at her. He wants to believe her so badly. But when have good things ever came -- and  _ stayed _ \-- for Oliver Queen? 

He can’t recall a time.

“I know I can protect you. I’ll do everything I can to keep you safe but…” His voice trails off, stricken. “I’m always going to wonder.”

“Wonder what?” 

“If your life is better off without me.” 

The words are out there, quiet but echoing like a gunshot and he doesn’t know who they are more painful for. 

He closes his eyes, waiting for the inevitable rebuke or slap -- both of which he would deserve, they’ve had this conversation so many times -- but neither come. The air is stony silent, and he chances a glance at her.

The look on her face breaks his heart. He should have kept his eyes closed. 

“Oliver, do you regret me?” 

The air feels like it’s left his lungs, like someone just pushed him down a flight of stairs. This hurts more, actually. He would know.

“What? Of course not, Felicity.”

She licks her lips, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. She tries to push a smile onto her lips but Oliver can tell it’s not genuine. 

“I mean, nothing between us has ever been easy. Or simple. We have like the most complicated history ever. And future, apparently.” She takes a breath and then meets his eyes, wanting to see the truth in them. “My point is… with everything we’ve been through, do you regret us? Regret me?” 

Oliver’s never been a man of many words, but he doesn’t back down from this. He looks straight into her eyes, wanting her to feel the honesty there. 

“ _ Never _ . Not once. You are the best thing I’ve ever had, Felicity. I could never regret you.”

Her hands make their way to his chest, pressing right against his heart. It’s her favorite place. 

“Then why are you so ready to believe that I could ever regret you?” 

He doesn’t have an answer for that. Not one he wants to unpack right now, at least. 

“Why is it that every time something bad happens your knee-jerk reaction is to let me go? Or put distance between us? I know your intentions are good Oliver, but still. It’s enough to give a girl a complex.” 

Her sentence ends in a garbled laugh and he can tell she’s not joking about this. It makes him ache that, even unintentionally, he’s forced these insecurities into her mind at all. 

“It’s never about _ wanting  _ to let you go, Felicity. It’s about wanting to protect you.” 

She sighs in exasperation and drops her hand from his chest, blinking back angry tears. She’s never met someone she can disagree with so passionately but love so fiercely. It’s maddening. 

“When are you going to realize that there is not a single part of you that I need to be protected from?!” 

“You don’t know that,” he says, voice deathly low. For as much as he’s grown in the past six years, his demons are still his demons and they will probably be there until the day he dies. 

And suddenly, she’s standing toe to toe with him again, all flushed cheeks and fiery eyes. 

“No! I  _ do _ know that. I know you better than I’ve ever known anyone in my life and there’s not a single part of you that I don’t love. The only thing I don’t know is why you are still insisting on pushing me away.” She wipes at a lone tear on her cheek and it nearly undoes him. “God, Oliver… after everything we’ve been through…” 

He knows she’s picturing those awful months when they weren’t together, punishing each other as much as punishing themselves. Those months were hell. He doesn’t ever want to go back to that. 

“I make my own choices, Oliver. Not you, not Barry, not some bleak future we’re supposedly a part of --  _ me _ . I know you just want to keep me safe and this whole Deadshot thing has you freaked out. And Barry coming back didn’t help anything either, but we can’t control that. I don’t know if what Barry said is true or not. There’s no way for us to know besides just to live our life. And I would rather live a thousand shortened lives with you by my side than a long life without you and that? That is _ my  _ choice.” 

And he can’t help himself then -- he has to kiss her. Their mouths crash together, and thankfully Felicity is on the same page as him, and soon they are a mixture of tongue and moans. 

He wraps himself around her, lifting her up as her arms wind around his neck, not abandoning his lips for one minute. Their lips move together as he steadily walks them back to the living area -- in need of a surface, a bed preferably, but honestly anything will do. 

There’s something about Felicity after an inspiring speech that is such a turn on. 

When his legs reach the bed, he sets her gently on top of it, breaking off their kiss only to slowly make his descent down her neck. He sucks at the spot that makes her moan the loudest --  his guilty pleasure. 

She scoots herself up the bed, dragging him along with her as he kicks off his shoes. Her arms leave his back to remove her shirt and soon his is gone as well along with the rest of their clothes. 

He doesn’t remember how or when, but being with Felicity is always such a passionate blur. 

He lavishes kisses up and down her body until she can’t take it anymore, until she grabs at his shoulders and attacks his mouth. He never gets tired of Felicity's enthusiasm, and loves that it translates into the bedroom as well.

He pauses, looking down at her, soaking her in. Her cheeks are flushed and she’s panting  and she is a masterpiece. She is the Mona Lisa and Starry Night and everything Di Vinci and Michelangelo could ever hope to create but never could. She is art and he will never get tired of looking at her.

“I love you,” he breathes into her skin, unable to contain the words. 

She blinks her eyes open, lost in the moment, and the look she gives him could end wars. “I love you. I love you so much.” 

The words turn his heart to lava, melting him from the inside out. He doesn’t deserve her by a long shot. But he will never stop trying. 

“You are my everything,” he declares, then kisses her with everything in him and slides home. 

&&&&&

Unlike the day before, it’s not the smell of bacon that awakens Felicity from her deep sleep.

And also unlike yesterday, she doesn’t wake up to an empty bed. 

Oliver’s arms curl around her, as if shielding her and she smiles, snuggling in further.

She feels drained from yesterday, but also surprisingly peaceful. The time travel stuff was a bummer, and she’s definitely not looking forward to playing bait for Deadshot later today but her talk with Oliver left her feeling light, like a weight had been lifted off her chest. Maybe it’s things she’s needed to say for awhile, but never knew how to. 

“Good morning.” The puff of air against her ear cuts off her thoughts. She twists her body around to face him, feeling almost giddy for the first time in a while. Which is weird, considering the circumstances, but she doesn’t question it. 

“Morning.” 

Their lips meet in a gentle kiss, not at all like the kisses they were sharing last night, but still nice. 

“How’d you sleep?”

She blushes which makes him smirk and she doesn’t know why she feels bashful all of a sudden. 

“You know how I slept. I think I passed out immediately after round three.” 

If possible, his grin turns even more smug. “Round three… that was a good one.” 

“Don’t sound so smug. I did all the work that time.” 

“That’s why it was so good.” She pinches his shoulder lightly, trying to act affronted but he just chuckles, swooping her in closer to his chest. 

“Mm, I love hearing you laugh,” she says, drawing circles on his chest absentmindedly. “It’s been too long.” 

“I love hearing you moan.” 

“Oliver!” 

“I love hearing that, too.” 

She shakes her head but laughs. “What’s gotten into you this morning? Did I sex you up so good you got a concussion?” 

He laughs again, the sound coming out so easy. Why can’t their lives always be like this? 

“You just make me really happy.” 

Her heart stutters, and if he’s trying to turn her into a puddle of goo this morning he’s succeeding. 

“You make me happy too.” She ducks her head, pressing a few soft kisses to his neck before resting on his chest again. 

Silence fills the room again, except unlike last night, it’s easy and peaceful and makes her want to stay in this cocoon forever. 

But of course, nothing good can last. 

Just as she’s starting to drift off again, she hears the elevator doors ding and the sound of footsteps enter the bunker. A lot of footsteps. Like,  _ the whole team _ kind of footsteps.

Oliver must be awake too because he stiffens. “Shit, what time is it?” 

She curses herself, because normally they are so much better about making sure they are fully dressed when the team arrives. But so much happened yesterday and then they got into a fight and then they were kissing and kissing turned into sexytimes and now they’re completely naked in the living quarters of the bunker which, of course, will be the first place people look for them. 

“Get dressed, hurry!” She hisses at him, already up and trying to find her clothes from last night. It’s not the most classy (or hygienic) thing, wearing what some people saw her in yesterday but it’s better than introducing them to her naked body. 

“I don’t know, I really liked that introduction.” Oliver says and it’s only then she realizes she was talking out loud. Old habits die hard. 

“Shut up and put some clothes on.” 

He grumbles but obliges, tucking his shirt into his jeans and she forgot what a quick dresser he is compared to her. 

“Oliver? Felicity?” She hears Dig’s voice echo through the bunker, the sound of footsteps getting closer. 

“Did they spend the night here?” She hears Thea ask. 

“Yeah, they’re both here according to their GPS tracker.” Curtis’ voice confirms. Oh great, everyone in the world is here. She can hear the footsteps getting closer like the climax in a horror movie. 

“Hey guys! We need to get a move on.” Lyla  yells. 

Without missing a beat, Oliver emerges from the living quarters, subtly navigating the team away from where Felicity is still half naked. 

“Hey.” 

“Where’s Felicity?” Curtis poses an innocent question. That Oliver was definitely not prepared for. 

“She’s uh… she’s not here? Weird.” He pretends to look around the bunker, like she might pop up from her computer station at any moment. 

The team gives him similarly funny looks, but Dig just rolls his eyes. 

“Really, man?”

Oliver scrunches up his eyebrows. “What?” 

“If you guys need a moment to compose yourselves, you could’ve just said so.” 

As if the implications dawn on her all at once, Thea’s face twists in disgust. “Ew, you guys. We _ all _ sleep in there.” 

“I don’t,” Curtis volunteers, as if that’s at all helpful. “Got a therapeutic mattress. My back is all messed up.” 

Oliver rolls his eyes. “Please, guys. It was one night together in the bunker, I think we can make it,” he says, leaving out the fact that it was actually two nights in the bunker and they had sex both nights. They don’t need to know that.

As if on cue, Felicity emerges from the living area, glasses on and hair in a ponytail. Oliver wouldn’t have even guessed she had gotten dressed in under 2 minutes if he didn’t just see her completely nude 3 minutes ago.

“Oliver! I didn’t know you were here!” 

Oliver looks at her like she’s crazy, because obviously the team just saw them both come out of the same area within minutes of each other but he knows she’s not the best liar under pressure. 

Dig just shakes his head. “You guys are so bad at this.” 

Felicity looks between Dig and him, trying to play catch-up and then it dawns on her. “I mean…  _ obviously _ I knew you were here because we slept together last night.” She freezes. “I mean, we didn’t  _ sleep together _ sleep together, we just slept… together….” She trails off, noticing the varying levels of disgust and laughter written on everyone's faces. She closes her eyes in defeat. “I’ll change the sheets.” 

“Thank you,” Thea mumbles. 

“Now that  _ that  _ trainwreck is over,” Lyla continues, ever the bluntest, “What’s on the agenda for the day? Are we still drawing out Lawton? Because I’ve got a team at Argus waiting for the green light.” 

Felicity takes a breath, refocusing. ‘Yes.  _ Yes. _ We’re still a go for Operation Deadshot, or ‘Felicity Takes a Shot at Not Being Dead’ as I like to call it. Get it? Cause the…” She trails off, meeting blank stares from everyone except Curtis who, to his credit, cracks a smile at her corny joke. 

“We all get it. It’s very funny. Now continue,” Oliver says in a grumpy voice that shows he did  _ not  _ find it funny at all.

“The plan is for me to go into Palmer Tech like it’s a regular day, totally not expecting any assassins, and then when Deadshot takes his shot -- which Curtis will have eyes on the area the whole time, so he won’t succeed -- we find his location and the team moves in on him. If we’re lucky, he’ll lead us to his base and if we’re really  _ really  _ lucky we’ll catch him so off-guard that we’ll take him in then and there.”

“And if Deadshot doesn’t show up?” Dig asks. 

“He’s an assassin with a target and a job to do. He’ll show up,” Felicity says without a hint of doubt. 

“We need Argus agents at every vantage point,” Oliver says, turning to Lyla. “Dig and I will be set up closest to Felicity, in case something goes wrong.” 

“Let’s just plan on something going wrong, something always does,” Lyla advises. 

Without warning, the lights in the bunker turn off and Felicity’s computers shut down, sparks flying off them. 

“Smart woman,” a voice Felicity wishes she didn’t recognize interrupts from the darkness. “Always plan on the unexpected.” 

“Lawton,” she hears Oliver growl. 

The lights flicker back on unceremoniously and there is Deadshot, standing just feet away at the edge of the platform, pistol in his hand. 

She hears Dig’s cock his gun and Lyla’s is already aimed straight at him. Thea and Curtis stand nearby but are weaponless -- of course -- as is Oliver. He’s standing protectively right in front of her, a human shield. 

“Well, long time no see, old pals.” 

His voice sends a chill down her spine. It must unnerve Oliver too, because his fingers twitch like he wants to be holding his bow. But leaving to grab it now would leave Felicity unshielded, and she knows he won’t risk that. 

“I wish I could say this would be a happy reunion, but I don’t think you’ll like why I’m here.” 

“Lower your weapon, Lawton. I won’t ask again.” Lyla commands. 

“No can do, ma’am.” 

True to her word, Lyla begins to fire off bullets in Lawton’s direction, as does Dig. Lawton, of course, dives and misses the hit, because what bad guy ever gets hit the first time? 

Felicity knows she needs to get up and move, do  _ something _ , but it feels like she’s glued to her seat, unable to tear her eyes away from the scene like it’s a play and she’s in the audience. 

When the shots ring out again, Oliver crouches in front of her, covering her head with his arms. “Stay down!” 

“Oliver! Get your bow!” She tells him, because she needs him to be able to protect himself.

“I’m not leaving you unprotected.” 

“I’ll be fine -- get it!” 

Oliver meets her eyes and she can see the torment inside them. In reality, it’ll take him 7 seconds tops to grab his bow but it’s the grave possibilities of what could happen to her in 7 seconds that has him frozen in place. 

Before he has time to make a decision, a shot ricochets right off the computer closest to her and she screams. Oliver maneuvers so he’s crouched right in front of her, covering her completely, and she knows he’s trying to make her feel safe but she doesn’t. 

The only thing she can think of that would be worse than dying would be Oliver dying right in front of her.

A shot rings out, closer this time, and she latches on to Oliver from behind, grasping his shoulder. 

“It’s okay,” he tells her, but it’s definitely not. 

Another one rings out, and she feels the impact as if it hit her own body.

If Oliver’s grunt of pain weren’t enough indication, the sticky wetness covering her hand would be. 

“Oliver!” 

His body slumps forward and she comes face to face with Floyd Lawton. 

She screams. 


End file.
